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V Terrible Family 

RY 

FLORENCE WARDEN. 

Author of “The House on the Marsh,” “ Those Westerton Girls,” 

“Ralph Ryder of Brent,” etc., etc. 



NEW Y O R K: ; 

THE TRAJ:)E SUITLIED HY 

THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY. 


V ' .. ' 

t: -A 

AUTHORS’ 
] LIBRARY. 


^ / No. I. 

^ : 

/ A 

I 

FLORENCE 

/Warden. 



I TERRIBLE 
( EAMllV. 




t{ 

’'Price HO Cea’ts, 




4; Published 
^ Bi-Monthly! ji 
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;Entered at X e\v 
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AS SECOND CLA 
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sEW J 
IFFICE I 
ILASS J 


iA . 



tKI'TKMBEK, 1893. 






4 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY 


u 


I 



A 


TERRIBLE EAMILY 


FLORENCE/ WARDENJ^. 

Author of “ The House on the Marsh," “ Those Westerton Girls," 
"Ralph Ryder of Brent f etc., etc. 



THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 


THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY, 



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COPYKIGHT^ 1893, 

IJV 

William Stevens^ Limited, 


\^Aii Rights Reserved.^ 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER I. 

A VERY BAD CHARACTER. 

“My dear Mi's. Hoad-Blean, I am very sorry to 
distress you, but there is no doubt that your new 
tenants are a terrible family ! ” 

Lady Cons tan tia Fitzjocelyn drew herself up and 
seemed to expand with the just indignation of a pro- 
vincial great lady, when in the midst of the placid 
villagers over whom she has been in the habit of 
domineering there appears a degenerate upstart who 
refuses to be domineered over. 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean was neither silly, nor subserv- 
ient, nor in any way indebted to Lady Constantia ; 
but so great is the force of popular opinion that she 
quailed a little and grew apologetic under the great 
lady’s frown. 

“ I am afraid that they are perhaps not quite all 
one could have wished,” she said, with an anxious 
look. “You see where there is no lady in a family 
the manners are apt to get a little rough.. But I 
assure you they have their good points.” 


6 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


The poor lady uttered these last words with the 
fervor of conviction ; for the free-handedness with 
which the new tenant had made a payment in ad- 
vance, without even being asked for it, could not fail 
to be appreciated by a mother with five big chil- 
dren to provide for, and next to nothing to do it on. 
But Lady Constantia’s ire was rather fanned than 
assuaged by hearing an excuse put forward for the 
offending ones. 

“ A lady ! ” she echoed. “ I don’t think a lady 
would find herself in very congenial society among 
such a crew. Their language is something too ap- 
palling — what one can understand of it ! Unfortu- 
nately, there is nothing but a wall to divide the Pri- 
ory grounds from ours ; really, if they had the place 
for long, we should have to let ours and go away.” 

And Lady Constantia folded her arms with the 
feeling that, in uttering this threat, she was com- 
mitting a cruelty for which she had to nerve herself 
with a great effort. 

But she had gone too far. Her hostess’s two 
handsome daughters, who were trying in vain to 
draw something more than monosyllabic answers 
from Lady Constantia’s daughter Harriet, both 
looked up and reddened. Mrs. Hoad-Blean’s lips 
tightened a little, and she answered, in the very 
quiet voice of one who thinks it is time to make a 
stand : 

“ I should be very sorry if you had to do that. 
But they have taken not only the Priory but the 
shooting for three years certain, and I hope they 
will like it well enough to renew the lease.” 


A Vi:lir BAD CIIABACTEU 


A look of relief and of pride in their mother 
crossed the faces of both pale, fair Jane and rosy, 
bright-eyed Pamela at the other end of the narrow 
room. 

“ As for the language they use, if you mean any- 
thing worse than old Mr. St. Rhadegund’s dropped 
h’s, I am very sorry. But after all, the grounds of 
Salternes Court and the Priory are both large, and 
you will only have to avoid just that corner where 
they touch, when the young men are about.” 

For a moment the tyrant’s breath seemed to be 
taken away by the failure of her own bolt. Then 
as she rose to go she said, with offended dignity : 

“ It is not always convenient to be exiled from a 
part of one’s grounds, however far from the house 
it happens to be. And as it happens to be the 
kitchen-garden end, I suppose we must give up all 
hope of having any fruit this year. One of the 
creatures has already had the audacity to speak to 
Harriet, as she was turning over the leaves of the 
apricot tree yesterday.” 

At her mother’s words, Harriet, a down-trodden, 
frightened-looking girl, blushed a vivid pink and 
began to stammer : 

“ He was only saying, mother, that if the tree on 
the other side shaded the apricots too much, that he 
— he w — would cut a branch off for me.” 

Lady Constantia listened to this explanation Avith 
her eyes on the ground, her head held back, and a 
look of icy annoyance on her face. For this feeble 
interpolation savored of contradiction. 

‘‘ Highly unnecessary,” she said. “ A mere excuse 


8 


A TEERIBLE FAMILY. 


for scraping acquaintance. You will not go into 
the kitchen-garden again, except with me, while 
these people remain at the Priory.” Then turning 
to her hostess, she held out her hand, and said, with 
a change in her tone to commiseration: “Well, 
good-bye. I know it isn’t your fault, and you must 
be quite as much annoyed as we are about it. After 
the nice people you had there last year too ! ” 

“Yes, hut they didn’t pay all their rent, and they 
broke a lot of things that we only found out after- 
wards,” said Mrs. Hoad-Blean. 

“ And they left debts in the village too ! ” said 
Pamela, the second girl, softly, though her sister 
frowned to her to stop. 

“ At least,” said Lady Constantia, more haughtily 
than ever, “ they were received by everybody, and 
they were not a disgrace to the place.” 

She was going out at the door into the tortuous 
passage which formed the hall of the rambling and 
ancient village house, when suddenly remembering 
something, she returned to say : 

“ I see there is a threshing-machine in the home 
farm to-day, so I suppose they are going to take 
down the big stack to-morrow. I shall be there 
early in the morning to protest against any rat- 
hunting, which is the sort of brutal sport those 
young men would delight in, I know.” 

“Oh, pray don’t — pray don’t interfere!” began 
poor Mrs. IToad-Blean, in a tone full of anxiety. 

But her visitor had sailed off, and was already 
stumping down the village street in a pair of huge 
hygienic boots, the peculiarity of which seemed to 


4 VERY BAR CHARACTER. 


9 


be that they always made more noise than any other 
sort, even on a sandy footway. The meek Harriet, 
more dispirited than ever, stumped after her in a 
pair of smaller size. Mrs. Blean, looking puzzled 
and worried, sat down again and took up her needle- 
work. Pamela ran to her mother, put her arm round 
her neck, and kissed her on the forehead. 

“ Don’t worry, mamma,” she said. “ It’s awkward, 
of course, having such people for tenants. But then 
they do pay well, and that’s something, isn’t it? ” 

“ It’s everything, unfortunately, my dear child,” 
said her mother wearily. “ I don’t know what we 
should have done if we had had people like the Ram- 
seys last year, who wanted so many things done 
that we should have done better to have gone on 
living at the Priory ourselves. I know these people 
are nobodies, and that Mr. St. Rhadegund himself 
is not very well educated or very refined. But he 
is very liberal and perfectly honest, and doesn’t want 
anything done. And really, lately,” she went on, 
the brave woman’s voice breaking with a sob, “ I have 

had such very hard work to keep things going ” 

“ It’s all that Edward ! ” cried Pamela, springing 
up, full of indignation. “ Why doesn’t he do some- 
thing, and earn some money, instead of always com- 
ing upon you? It’s disgraceful. Why, do you 
think if Jane and I were boys, that we would idle 
our time away and be always w*orrying our mother 
for money ? Girls as we are, we would do anything, 
anything to help you, if it were only not considered 
more of a disgrace for gentlewomen to work than 
for gentlemen to be idle ! ” 


10 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


Mrs. Blean, who had been trying in vain to silence 
her daughter, answered very reproachfully : 

“ My dear, you don’t understand these things. If 
poor Edward has not settled down to anything yet, 
remember he is very delicate, and he has not had 
the best of examples.” 

But these words, which contained, as they knew, 
an implied reproach against their father, brought 
both girls in arms against her. For Colonel Hoad- 
Blean, though he was rather a trial to his wife, was 
adored by his daughters, being one of those fasci- 
nating men whom to know pretty well is to love, 
and to know very well is to heartily despise. And 
while his wife knew him very well, his daughters 
did not. For when he found liis income so seriously 
diminished by his extravagance, that he could no 
longer live upon it in luxury with his family, he 
chose to live in luxury without his family, and to be 
so much occupied with the business of trying to get 
something to do, that it was more convenient for him 
to live in bachelor chambers in town than to share 
the rustic seclusion of his wife and daughters. Ilis 
only son, being entirely of his mind, followed his 
father’s example, and only visited home when it 
became necessary to squeeze more money from the 
slender purse of his too indulgent mother. 

“Well, at least papa had served his country as a 
soldier ! ” said Pamela. “ While Edward has done 
nothing.” 

“ And never means to do anything,” chimed in 
Jane. 

“ Never mind, mamma, we won’t tease you,” cried 


A Vi:Br BAD CRABACTBB. 11 

Pamela affectionately, noting the effect which dis- 
paragement of her idol had upon the poor. lady. 

“I suppose there is no way of getting rid of 
these people ? ” suggested Jane, in a resigned voice. 
“ There is sure to be an open quarrel between them 
and Lady Cons tan tia before long, and then she will 
very likely turn round upon us.” 

There was a short silence. It was no use pre- 
tending that this would not be a calamity ; for the 
gayeties on which girls’ happiness so much depends 
were most of them centered, as far as Jane and 
Pamela were concerned, in Salternes Court. Besides 
this. Lady Cons tan tia’s only son had already paid 
rather marked attention to Pamela. 

Mrs. Blean broke the silence. 

“ It can’t be helped,” she said, desperately. “ I 
can’t be dictated to in everything by Lady Con- 
stantia, who doesn’t know herself what it is to 
have ” 

The rest of her sentence died away on her lips as 
loud cries and ghouts, and the noise of scurrying 
feet, attracted her attention in the road outside. A 
sturdy-looking, rather thick-set boy, of about twelve 
years of age, was racing along the quiet little village 
street, crying : “ Ss-cat ! Ss-cat ! ” and stooping 
every now and then to pick up a stone, which he 
flung with all his force. He had scarcely passed 
the window when Mrs. Blean’s twin daughters, 
Olive and Myrtle, rushed by and dashed into the 
drawing-room like a whirlwind. 

The twins were pretty girls of fourteen, fair, 
sweet-faced, usually as placid as turtle-doves, and 


12 


A TElililJJLi; FAMILV. 


SO ridiculously alike in speech and in thought, that 
the opinions of one would always serve for the 
other. Some microscox)ic differences there may 
have been between them in taste or in temperament, 
hut these no study had hitherto sufficed to dis- 
cover. 

Both began together : , 

“ That horrid, horrid St. Rhadegund boy is chas- 
ing our cat ! ” 

“ He’s hurt it already ! ” 

“ Our poor Minnie ! ” 

“ Do, do go out and stop him, Pamela ! ” wound up 
Myrtle imploringly. 

Now Pamela, always the militant member of the 
family, was just in the humor to go and “ stop him.” 
She flew out of the house, and after the abandoned 
boy, and caught him by the shoulder just as he was 
stooping to pick up another stone. 

“ How dare you throw stones at our cat ? ” cried 
she, giving him a good shake, in which she concen- 
trated all the noble rage of the county family con- 
demned to let its mansion to the vulgar parvenu. 
“ How dare you ? How dare you ? ” 

“ She called me a brute! ” cried the boy, raising 
a flushed and angry but honest face to the lady’s. 

“ So you are 1 ” returned Pamela promptly, with 
another shake. 

Now it is not to be supposed that in making this 
personal attack upon the boy, Pamela was taking a 
mean advantage of her superior size. For the boy 
was well-built and muscular, and could probably 
have freed himself if he had made a strong effort to 


A BAB CIIABAOTBB. 


13 


do so. But he made none ; and Pamela, shamed by 
his non-resistance, was on the point of letting him 
go, when a new opponent appeared upon the scene, 
in the shape of a tall, strong young man, who saun- 
tered up in dusty riding-dress, with his whip in his 
hand. 

“ What’s the row, Bob ? ” he asked, laconically, 
without taking the slightest notice of the young 
lady. 

“Your brother is throwing stones at my sisters’ 
cat,” explained Pamela, with more than a touch of 
haughtiness, as she relaxed her hold of Bob. “ Per- 
haps you approve of that ? ” 

“ She was eating my little chicks,” explained 
Boh. 

“ Then I do approve of it certainly,” said the elder 
brother promptly, turning to Pamela and speaking 
in a slow, off-hand tone which she found particu- 
larly exasperating. “Cats are only vermin, and 
when vermin become troublesome they have to be 
checked.” 

“ I think you’ll find it dangerous to begin ‘ check- 
ing’ other people’s pet animals, Mr. St. Rhadegund,” 
said Pamela, in whom indignation and disgust were 
getting the better of prudence. “ Lady Constantia 
Fitzjocelyn, your nearest neighbor, is a member of 
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- 
mals ; and she would most certainly put the law in 
force against any one who tortured dumb animals 
about here.” 

Th§ young man, whose stolid, imperturbable man- 
ner was the greatest possible contrast to Pamela’s 


14 


A TEERIBLE FAMILY. 


air of suppressed passion, listened quietly, with his 
eyes upon the ground ; he laughed a little when she 
had finished. 

“ Lady Cons tan tia : that’s the hideous old wo- 
man who insults my father, and who isn’t worthy 
to breathe the same air with him. You tell the old 
lady, with my kind regards, that if she sets any one 
to interfere with me. I’ll shoot all the vermin I can 
find on her side of the wall, beginning with her cub 
of a son.” 

Pamela was aghast. The “ cub of a son ” was her 
admirer, Alfred Fitzjocelyn, who believed so firmly 
that he did Salternes Court a great honor by his 
visits to his parents, that all the neighbors had be- 
gun to agree with him. He was in the Army, and 
had now been at his mother’s home for the unprece- 
dentedly long period of six weeks, a fact which was 
generally put down to the attractions of brown-eyed 
Pamela Blean. It was natural that the- girl should 
feel her wrath redoubled at this disparagement of 
her admirer. Her nimble tongue, which had often 
before got her into scrapes, got her into another 
now. 

“ Of course I know that there is as much differ- 
ence between you and Mr. Fitzjocelyn as there is 
between you and a cat. Only in the latter case the 
advantage is on your side, while in the former it is 
not.” 

But Dick St. Rhadegund made light of the insult. 

“ Oh, we’re all proof against snubs by this time ; 
at least, we boys are,” said he, looking at the red- 
tiled roof of the cottage near which they were stand- 


A V^BV BAB CUABACTBB. 


15 


ing. “For I tell you we won’t stand any more 
rudeness to my father. He is worth a dozen of 
yours, and he’s never done anything worse than pay 
three times the rent he ought to pay for an old 
tumble-down set of rat-holes not fit to store fire- 
wood in, much less shelter a family of decent 
Christians.” 

Again Pamela was thunderstruck. The Priory, 
St. Domneva’s Priory, the pride of the guide-books, 
the chief show- place for miles around, teeming with 
historical interest and with “bits” which threw 
artists into ecstasies — to be called an old tumble- 
down set of rat-holes ! It shattered her faith in 
Man. And the worst of it was that she had no 
means of redress. She could not be satirical with 
him, for she could not make him care. No matter 
how crushingly she might taunt him with his bar- 
baric lack of taste, her words would have no effect 
upon this stolid, placid man, who stood towering 
above her, playing with the ends of his long fair 
mustache, as if he were only idly passing the time. 

A dozen splendid rejoinders jostled one another 
in her head, but none of them were sufficiently defi- 
nite of shape to be uttered. And as they did so a 
surprising little thought crept into her mind: it 
was that this very rude and ill-mannered man was 
not entirely wrong in being annoyed at the slights 
which he, with or without reason, considered to have 
been put upon his father. 

She became quite suddenly somewhat abashed, 
and her tone changed to one altogether feminine and 
gentle, as she said ; 


16 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ I am afraid you’re right. Perhaps some of us 
are not quite as nibe as we ought to be to — to 
strangers. But then, you see, we are not used, over 
here in England, to men who can take their own 
part so very well against ladies.” 

Of course the little reproach which she uttered, 
raising her head with a touch of dignity, had no 
effect upon the big young man. He just glanced at 
her when she changed her tone, but immediately 
transferred his gaze to the red- tiled roof again. 

“Not my own part,” he corrected, coolly, “though 
I don’t see why I shouldn’t do that too. It’s my 
father’s part I’m taking, as it happens.” 

Then, without any further ceremony, unless the 
careless raising of his whip to his hat was to be 
taken as a salutation, he turned on his heel, and 
sauntering the few paces which took him to the end 
of the street, he turned into a path across a turnip- 
field, and went whistling away. 


A HAT UUNT, 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

A KAT HUNT. 

Pamela was left standing by herself in the little 
village street, Bob St. Rhadegund having disap- 
peared at an early stage of her encounter with his 
brother. 

The girl made a pretty picture as she stood in the 
sunshine of a bright May afternoon, with a white 
sun-bonnet belonging to one of the twins on her 
head, blushing red with mortification at Dick St. 
Rhadegund’s discourteous behavior. Deep down 
in her heart, too, was a little resentment at the fact 
that, while she had been involuntarily admiring his 
undeniable good looks, he had seemed quite unaware 
that he was quarreling with the acknowledged pret- 
tiest girl in the county. Now Pamela was not vain, 
in the sense of putting an undue value upon her own 
beauty ; but with her neat figure, black eyes, white 
teeth, wavy chestnut hair, and rich brown com- 
plexion, she was far too handsome to have been 
allowed to remain altogether unconscious of it. 

She came slowly back towards her mother’s house, 
where the twins were waiting for her in the door- 
way. 

It was an ancient white-washed house, with one 
protruding wing, and with pointed gables, this new 


18 


A TERRIBLE FA^IILY. . 


home of Mrs. Hoad-Blean and her four pretty daugh- 
ters. A rambling, unpretending dwelling, with no 
strip of garden to divide it from the sandy road- 
way, nothing but the tiny stone-paved square formed 
by the wing on one side and a tall hrew-house on 
the other. Not a door-post or a window-frame in 
the place that was not out of the perpendicular 
with age. The rest of the half-dozen houses on 
that side of the road were even more unpretend- 
ing than theirs, while the dwellings on the opposite 
side were all laborers’ cottages pure and simple. 
And the hardest part of it was that the trees of 
beautiful St. Domneva’s were in sight ; for the ancient 
wall which shut in the grounds of their old home 
faced the end of the little street, not a hundred yards 
from their own door. 

“ Oh, Pamela, what did he say ? ” 

“Was he very rude to you?” asked the twins. 

They had watched the proceedings from this dis- 
tance, because mamma had forbidden them to go 
and take part in the scene which was taking place 
in the open street. 

• “Yes, very,” answered Pamela, with the tears 
rising in her eyes. 

And she ran past her inquiring sisters to her own 
room, where the quieter Jane soon joined her, to 
condole with her on the insults to which the family 
poverty exposed them. 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean "was so sore upon the whole sub- 
ject, that, by tacit consent among the girls, the name 
of the St. Phadegunds was not mentioned in her 
presence that evening. 


A EAT HUNT. 


19 


On the following day, however, the poor lady 
was condemned to hear little else. She took a very 
early train to Canterbury, to do some shopping, and 
Pamela went with her. 

Jane, dangling her mother’s huge bunch of keys, 
was superintending the erratic doings of the country 
servants, and keeping an eye on the twins at their 
lessons, when the ominous sound of Lady Con- 
stantia’s voice in the hall caused her to frown with 
annoyance. 

Jane was a thoughtful and diplomatic girl, who 
felt more strongly than any of them that it would 
not do to estrange the autocrat ; and something in 
the autocrat’s morning voice told her that she had 
come with some request which was a command. 
Jane was a girl of almost stately height, with a 
slender, graceful figure, golden hair, and a face 
which, though not so beautiful as Pamela’s, and 
very pale, was not without beauty and attractive- 
ness. In her plain gray stuff morning gown, she 
came down the mean little staircase like a queen, 
and held out ]ier hand to an enormous bundle of 
waterproof, with goloshes on its feet, black cloth 
gloves on its hands, and a dripping umbrella, which 
was all that was to be seen of Lady Constantia Fitz- 
jocelyn. 

“ My dear,” began the autocrat promptly, “ I want 
you to put on your waterproof and come with me 
at once. I know that your mother is out, your 
parlor-maid has just told me so. — By the by, why 
don’t you make her wear a cap that hides more of 
her hair ? That light, fiuffy hair does not look right 


20 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


for a girl in her position. — However, what I want 
yon to do is to come round with me to the Priory 
farm, to see that there is no cruelty practiced when 
they pull dow*n the stack. You must make haste, 
for they will have begun already long before this.” 

'“Won’t you come in?” asked Jane faintly, open- 
ing the drawing-room door. 

“ No, I'll wait for . you here. Now, make haste, 
there’s a good child ! ” 

“ But, dear Lady Constantia, you are surely not 
going to stand in the rain in a soaking farm-yard to 
save a few rats from being knocked on the head 1 ” 
cried Jane. 

Lady Constantia emphasized her answer by a 
thump of her umbrella which threw a little shower 
around her. 

“ Certainly I am. All dumb animals have a right 
to he protected from wanton cruelty, and I knoAV 
these young rascals enjoy it.” 

The vicious emphasis which she put upon these 
last words showed the observant Jane that there was 
quite as much ill-feeling towards the boys as good- 
feeling towards the rats in the lady’s action. She 
tried remonstrance again. 

“Don’t you think it will be rather rash to — 
to ” 

She did not like to say interfere. Lady Con- 
stantia replied to her unfinished sentence : 

“ I don’t care how rash I am in the cause of 
humanity.” 

“ x\nd you know these rats bite sometimes ! ” 

“ They won’t bite me / ” 


A BAT UUNT. 21 

Jane looked at her, and thought that a wise rat 
wouldn’t. 

“Don’t you think you could do without me?” 
said the girl^ in a mild voice. 

“ Dear me, no, certainly not. I should have taken 
your mother if she had been here. Don’t you see, I 
must have some one belonging to their landlord’s 
family with me to give me a right to interfere ? ” 

Poor Jane grew haggard. She foresaw that this 
would be the beginning of even a worse state of 
things than already existed between them and their 
tenants. She tried entreaty. 

“ Ah, mamma might have been of some use. But 
don’t you see that it wouldn’t be proper for me to 
take her place in such a matter, and without con- 
sulting her ? Please, please let me off.” 

“ Do you think your mother would have refused 
to come when I asked her ? ” said Lady Constantia 
authoritatively. “ Surely I am as good a judge of 
what is proper as she, and I say you are to come.” 

Jane gave way. She had a little hope that, not 
having herself come into actual conflict, as Pamela 
had done, with the St. Rhadegund family, she 
might perhaps, by adopting a very conciliatory 
manner, do more good than harm. She did not, 
however, take her visitor’s advice and put on her 
waterproof. Waterproofs are unbecoming things, 
and Jane knew that on a diplomatic errand one 
ought to look one’s best. So as the day showed 
signs of clearing up, she put on a short cape-cloak 
which was very becoming to her graceful figure, and 
went downstairs. 


22 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


“ Are you going in that thing ? ” asked Lady Con- 
stantia, with a disapproving eye. 

But Jane, who thought that her dress was her 
own affair, merely said, “ Yes,” as she took her um- 
brella from the stand. 

At the end of the little street they had to turn to 
the right, and passing the blacksmith’s forge, entered 
the huge farm-yard, the great barns of which, with 
their moss-grown thatch, had been the scene of 
many a childish game when Jane and her sister were 
children. 

In marched Lady Constantia, past a big duck-pond 
with a walnut tree hanging over it, to the place 
where the great threshing machine stood, already 
hard at work, the center of a busy group. 

High on the diminishing stack of corn stood two 
men, throwing down the yellow-brown sheaves. 
These were caught up by others, and handed to the 
man on the top of the big machine, to feed its yawning 
mouth with. Fast as the great jaws separated the 
grain, it fell in heaps to the ground, giving two more 
men as much as they could do to clear it away, and 
to pass it to two others, who tied it again in sheaves 
ready for fresh storing. 

But all this, although the legitimate, was quite 
the least exciting, part of the proceedings. Round 
about the stack stood the three youngest St. Rhade- 
gunds: Jim, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, wiry, viva- 
cious-looking man of twenty-five ; Tom, a lad of 
three-and-twenty, at present thin, angular, and a 
trifle weedy-looking, but who promised to become 
in time a copy of his stalwart and handsome eldest 


A BA r HUNT. 


23 


brother Dick ; and Bob, the youngest of the family. 
All these, with sticks in their hands, were waiting 
for the rats and mice whom the unstacking of the 
corn had turned out of their home. Dick, the eldest 
of the family, was holding back a rough -haired ter- 
rier, who was whining and yelping with impatience ; 
while old Mr. St. lihadegund, from his seat on a 
five-barred gate, watched the scene with as much 
interest as his sons. He was a splendid-looking 
man, this terrible upstart who had brought such a 
disturbing element into the peaceful village of Sal- 
ternes; six feet two inches in height, massively 
built without being stout, with a head of curly gray 
hair, clear, hawk-like blue eyes, and a mustache 
and beard already white, he was far more distin- 
guished-looking in appearance than any of the neigh- 
boring gentlemen. So that it was a little disappoint- 
ing to hear him cry, with a mixture of a cockney 
accent and a yankee twang : 

“ That’s it, Jim ! ’It ’im, ’it ’im on the ’ead. 
That chap’ll never run no more ! ” 

A fringe of men on the lookout for a job, and of 
small boys eager to slay such of the vermin as might 
escape the nimble young masters, completed the 
scene, to which the tall trees which shut in the farm- 
yard made, with their young green foliage, a soft 
and pretty setting. The rain was still falling gently. 
But Lady Constantia, with an exclamation of 
triumph which might be called her war-whoop, shut 
up her umbrella violently, and dashed into the 
middle of the group. She had caught them red- 
handed. 


24 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


Just as she approached the whirring machine, a 
whole family of mice and one large rat diverted 
public attention from her entrance, and set the 
whole excited throng of young men and boys jump- 
ing and shouting. Dick let go his terrier, and even 
the busy men at their work turned their heads to 
see him finish the rat. 

“ Stop ! ” cried Lady Cons tan tia, raising her 
dripping umbrella aloft as a standard; “I won’t 
have this. It is inhuman, brutal; I insist on its 
being stopped.” 

But the sport went on just the same, and as she 
pressed rashly onward, a sheaf of corn fell from the 
stack upon her head, so that her continued expostu- 
lations were lost in a buzz of ill-suppressed laughter. 
Nothing daunted, however, she moved out of the 
way of the falling sheaves, and haranguing the young 
men on the cruelty of their conduct, threatened 
them with “ The Society ” and its penalties if they 
went on in their evil ways. 

“Here is your landlord’s daughter, who disap- 
proves of your wicked amusement as much as I do, 
come to join her protest with mine,” she went on. 
And turning to where the girl hung shyly in the 
background, she sharply beckoned to her to come 
forward. 

Poor Jane, who had a horror of rats, was 
whiter than ever as she timidly and reluctantly 
obeyed. Her physical terror was so great that it 
was only by a strong effort that she dragged her 
limbs to where Lady Constantia stopd, hoping to 
soften the effect which the autocrat’s words were 


A BAT HUNT. 


25 


evidently beginning to have in irritating the young 
men. 

“ Tell them, Jane, tell them what your mother 
would think of this cruelty,” said Lady Constantia 
imperiously. 

There was a pause, a slack time for a moment, 
the last batch of mice having been killed, and no 
other having at present been disturbed. The St. 
Rhadegunds, who had had skirmishes with the 
other three girls, had never Spoken to Jane, whose 
dignity and pale beauty rather impressed them. 
But her words and her tone, when she spoke, were 
only the words and tone of a shy young girl of 
twenty-two, so that their momentary interest and 
awe vanished immediately. 

“ I am sure,” she began, with a face which was 
brave not from austerity but from timidity, “ that 
my mother would not wish to interfere in any 
way ” 

A strong young voice interrupted her, a voice 
ringing with a young man’s passionate indignation : 

“ But she always is interfering ! I never knew 
such an interfering lot in all my life! We can’t 
have a new window put in where we’ve only got a 
monk’s peep-hole, but she interferes and says it’ll 
spoil the place’s architectural beauty! We can’t 
have slates put on instead of the beastly tiles that 
let the rain in, but she interferes and says it’ll take 
away the primitive look of the building. It’s as 
much as we dare to sneeze in the house, for fear she 
should come over and tell us it’ll shake the build- 
ing!” 


26 


A FAJ/IZr, 


It was Jim who spoke, standing up face to face 
with Jane, and frowning at the girl as if she had 
been some savage monster whom he was bound to 
slay. By the time he had finished speaking, Jim 
was joined by his eldest brother, who put a hand on 
his shoulder and said, in the slow tones which con- 
trasted so strongly with Jim’s rapid utterance : 

“ Perhaps your sister, the one who catches little 
boys and beats them, the athletic sister I mean, 
thinks she has a right to all the rats found on the 
estate. I see cats count as live-stock in this country ; 
perhaps this other sort of vermin does so too.” 

But here Lady Constantia came to the rescue of 
her less strong-minded companion. 

“Come away, my dear,” she said. “In ^/letr 
country it’s very evident that they don’t know how 
to treat ladies, at all events ! ” 

“We know how to treat ladies, ma’am, perfectly 
well,” returned Dick more slowly than ever, and 
with an insolent uplifting of his chin. “But as 
there are different sorts of ladies, we treat them in 
different sorts of ways. For instance, there are 
some ladies who know so jolly well how to take care 
of themselves that we needn’t trouble ourselves to 
take care of them. Otherwise, ma’am, or your lady- 
ship, or whatever you call yourself, I might warn 
you that my terrier has just unearthed a swarm of 
rats in the barn yonder, and that they’re making 
this way as fast as they can cut.” 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when, 
as he said, the rats were upon them. Lady Con- 
stantia, with an ear-piercing yell, sprang into the air 


A RAT HUNT. 


27 


and fell upon Bob, whom her portly form nearly 
crushed. But she got out of the way of the rats. 

Jane, however, was not so fortunate. So much 
troubled was she at the violence of the antagonism 
which was developing between the two sides, that 
she had scarcely taken in the sense of Dick’s warn- 
ing. Before, therefore, she could move out of the 
way, a dozen rats, large and small, which had rashly 
made their way, in their fright, to the very point of 
danger, were scurrying through the group of which 
she formed the center. She stood petrified with 
fear. The next moment she felt something upon 
her dress : before she knew what was happening, a 
great black rat was hanging from her hand with its 
teeth imbedded in her wrist. She looked at it ; she 
did not cry out : when the momentary excitement 
of the rush was over, and most of the boys were in 
full chase, Jim, who had foregone the delight of pur- 
suit for this occasion only, and. was contenting him- . 
self with watching it merely, saw the lady stagger. 
An exclamation of horror broke from him when he 
saw what had happened ; the next moment he had 
his hands round the rat, and by throttling it, forced 
it to release its hold on her wrist. 

“ Thank you,” said she faintly, and taking out her 
handkerchief, she tried with her left hand to fasten 
it round her wrist. 

“ Let me do it, let me ! ” cried Jim eagerly. “ I 
won’t hurt you ; I’ll do it gently and better than you 
can.” 

lie had seized her handkerchief, in spite of her 
refusals, which were indeed uttered in the faintest 


28 


A TERRIBLE FA3nLY, 


and weakest of voices. Suddenly, as his hands 
touched her wrist, she recovered enough command 
of herself to speak almost in her usual voice as she 
snatched her hand away and put it under her cloak: 

“ I don’t want it hound up. It is quite unnec ” 

She turned as she uttered the words, staggered 
again, and fell in a heap among the loose straw 
which was lying on the ground. 

Lady Constantia had been so much occupied in 
making sure that she had not suffered in her invol- 
untary encounter with Bob,*that she had seen noth- 
ing of all this. When, therefore, she suddenly per- 
ceived her companion lying on the ground, she hur- 
ried at once to her side in much alarm. For with 
all her oddities, her kindness of heart was genuine. 
But Jim would not allow her to come near. He was 
down on his knees beside the half -unconscious girl, 
and with a face nearly as bloodless as her own, and 
a touch as gentle as a woman’s, he had raised her 
head, loosened her cloak, taken off her hat, and be- 
gun to fan her with his handkerchief. He looked 
up with a frown as Lady Constantia came near. 

“ Leave her to me,” he whispered. “ I’ll take her 
home.” 

But Jane shook her head, and tried feebly to push 
him away. 

“ I haven’t fainted,” she said. “ L am quite - well. 
Go away, please.” 

And she struggled to rise. 

“ Won’t you just let me bind up your wrist first ? ” 

“ ^^o.” 

Without a look at him, Jane, who had now re- 


A BAT HUNT. 


^9 

gained her feet, offered her handkerchief to Lady 
Constantia, with a request that she would perform 
the office for which Jim had offered his services. 

“That I will, my dear, and we will get out of this 
murderous hole before the other young savages come 
back.” 

Jim stood, livid with rage, watching them. When 
the operation was finished, and they turned to leave 
the farm-yard, he sprang to Jane’s side and said, 
angrily : 

“ I thought you were better than the rest : you are 
worse. There’s nothing in the world so hateful as 
an unforgiving woman.” 

Jane, without condescending to answer him, turned 
to Lady Constantia. 

“ It has quite left off raining now,” she said. 

And, as if in superb unconsciousness of the pres- 
ence of any one but themselves, she accompanied 
her autocratic companion out of the farm-yard. 


30 


A TElililBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTER III. . 

A DANGEROUS PROTECTOR. 

The rain had left olf by the time Lady Constantia 
and Jane went out by the farm -yard gate, the former 
giving her arm to her companion, and speaking to 
her in a tone full of kindness, for she felt that she was 
herself to blame for the accident which had hap- 
pened to the girl. Naturally, however, she found 
excuses for herself, some of them rather odd ones. 

“ It is marvelous what a delight people of that 
sort take, in setting themselves up in opposition to 
people of birth and position,” she moralized, as they 
went up the little street, Jane having declined an 
invitation to go back with her to Salternes Court. 
“ I suppose they are galled by the feeling of tlieir 
own inferiority, which of course they can’t get rid 
of.” 

“ I don’t think the St. Rhadegunds seemed to 
feel it much. It seems to me they look down upon 
us at least as much as we do upon them,” said Jane, 
encouraged by Lady Constantia’s kindness to be 
more frank than that autocrat usually allowed any 
one to he. 

“ Look down ! How can they ? You can’t look 
down from below ! ” 


rl DANGEBOUS PBOTECTOB. 


31 


“ 'Well, all social distances are largely imaginary, 
aren’t they ? So if only your imagination is stronger 
than the collective prejudices of your neighbors, 
you can enjoy the belief that you are everybody’s 
superior, and nobody can take it away from you.” 

Now her companion had let her finish this speech 
mainly because the opening sentence was so shocking 
that for a few moments it took away her breath. 
When she had recovered from the blow, and put on 
her spectacles to see whether these revolutionary 
opinions had begun to work any havoc in the younger 
lady’s appearance, she said, in a severe tone : 

“ My dear, be thankful that it is only I who hear 
you — I, who am old enough to make allowance for 
the absence of reasoning power in the very young ! 
All social distances largely imaginary ! ” she re- 
peated, in a crescendo of horror ; “ why, you’ll say 
religion is imaginary next! Believe me, my dear, 
you may think that sort of talk very clever, but if 
you give way to it you will never get a husband, 
except perhaps among the very dregs ! ” 

In which emphatic word, pronounced in a voice of 
overpowering authority. Lady Constantia summed 
up all her fellow-creatures except the royal family, 
the nobility, and the county families. 

Jane accepted the rebuke with apparent meekness, 
for she made no answer. But as Lady Constantia 
continued to talk about the determined and malig- 
nant opposition of the St. Rhadegunds to the “best 
people,” she could not help wondering what they 
thought of the “best people’s” determined and 
malignant opposition to them. 


32 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


They had reached the honse, and Jane, who wanted 
to change her things, which had got wet when she 
fell on the rain-sodden straw, longed to go in. But 
Lady Constantia would neither come in nor go away ; 
she remained haranguing her victim in the little 
court-yard on the “ pretty state of things we’re com- 
ing to,” until a heavy step in the road behind them 
made her turn. 

The new-comer was old Mr. St. Rhadegund, who, 
coming on to the stone pavement, and taking not the 
slightest notice of Lady Constantia, addressed the 
girl in a blunt way which yet showed some fatherly 
concern : 

“What’s this as I ’ear about them hoys o’ mine 
lettin’ their rats run over you? I’m real sorry, that 
I am, that you should ha’ come to ’arm, my dear, 
along o’ their pranks. Mind, I’m not saying it was 
all their fault : they’ve been worrited and plagued 
into what they’ve done — not by you., my dear, hut 
by them that ought to know better. And like ’igh- 
spirited lads, they kick. But it wasn’t you that the 
rat ought to ha’ bitten. Let this he a warnin’ to 
you, my dear, to be more partic’lar who you take 
up with, and never to hack up them that pokes their 
nose into other folk’s business instead of minding 
their own.” 

He nodded to her with a good-humored smile, and 
touched his hat as he walked away, leaving poor 
Jane in much confusion, and Lady Constantia spell- 
bound at this fresh outrage. Fortunately, however, 
for poor Jane, her indignation took, after a few 
moments, the form of a desire to give the clown a 


A UA^^GI^BOVS PEOTECTOB. 


33 


piece of her mind .upon the spot. So she hade the 
girl a hasty farewell, and promising to look in again 
by and by, which Jane sincerely hoped she would 
forget to do, she started in pursuit of the enemy. 

When Mrs. Hoad-Blean came back from her shop- 
ping expedition, it may be imagined with what feel- 
ings she received the new^s which awaited her. 
Pamela and the twins were furious, and vied with 
each other m heaping terms of withering hatred and 
contempt upon the young St. Rhadegunds. Pamela 
was more impartial, and let Lady Constantia share 
her vituperation. 

“ And she’s coming to see me this afternoon, you 
say?” said Mrs. Blean, with a groan. “That’s the 
worst of all.” 

“You sha’n’t see her, mamma,” said Pamela 
promptly. “ I don’t see why you’re always to be Avor- 
ried. Lady Constantia is quite able to fight her own 
battles, and like other generals, she lets her sub- 
ordinates get the Avounds. If she comes, I shall say 
you’re asleep.” 

And so she did, to the horror of the tAvins, Avho 
kneAV that mamma Avas in the store-cupboard, and 
Avho rather expected Pamela to drop doAvn dead 
like Sapphira when she met Lady Constantia’s 
piercing eyes. 

Thanks to this bold action on the part of her second 
daughter, Mrs. Blean, to Avhom a journey by train 
alAvays resulted in a violent headache, Avas able to 
enjoy a little rest that afternoon. And in the even- 
ing, just before dressing for dinner, she thought a 
little fresh air would do her good, told the tAvins to 
3 


34 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


lout on their sun-bonnets, and went with them to the 
station to await the arrival of the London train, 
bringing the evening papers. The sky had cleared 
after the rain, and the sunset glow shone on the 
pretty faces of the twins, as they watched the train, 
like a little black snake with one bright eye, gliding 
over the marsh towards them. 

They were standing at the end . of the platform 
farthest from the advancing train, so that when it 
drew up to the little station they were close to the 
engine. They would have to wait, they knew, until 
the train had gone on again and the platform was 
cleared, before they could get their paper. As they 
stood waiting, they became aware that something 
unusual had happened, by seeing a little crowd collect 
at the other end of the platform. Peals of laughter 
soon told them that the event was an amusing one ; 
and as one by one the people grew tired of looking, 
and detaching themselves from the curious group, 
came up and passed through the station door, the 
three ladies heard comments such as “ He’s mad ! ” 
“No, only screwed,” and saw grinning faces and 
shrugging shoulders. 

“ Oh, mamma, come away ; do let us go away ! 
There’s a tipsy man on the platform ! I lieard them 
say so,” cried Olive, in horror. 

“ Well, my dear child, he won’t hurt you. He 
won’t come near this end. They will take him out 
by the door.” 

The crowd, with the object of its amusement still 
in its midst, was pressing on to the door of the sta- 
tion. Myrtle, who was a step nearer than her mother 


A DANGEROUS PROTECTOR. 35 

and sister, saw through a gap in the crowd the 
person who had caused the commotion. 

“ Oh, mamma,” she cried, in a whisper, “ he’s wav- 
ing his newspaper about like a madman. He’s 

Oh!” 

She stopped short with a little scream, and turned, 
with a face full of horror, to her mother. Mrs. 
Blean’s face, even in the sunset, looked drawn and 
ghastly. She too had caught sight of the “ madman.” 

“Mamma,” said Myrtle, seizing her mother’s hand, 
with a pretty instinct of consolation. “ It isn’t he, 
it can’t be — Edward ! ” 

“ Run away home, my dears. And don’t say any- 
thing to your sisters till I come.” 

But they had to wait until the passengers had 
passed out, by which time the poor mother had re- 
covered all her self-control. The eccentric individual 
whom she had just seen, with his hat on the back 
of his head, waving his rolled-up newspaper like a 
conductor’s baton, and making himself the laughing- 
stock of the crowd, was her son EdAvard, as she knew. 
The time had come Avhen she must pay for her one 
error — the injudicious indulgence of her only son. 
Edward caught sight of his little sisters as they ran 
past him ; and coming up to them, he insisted upon 
taking one on each arm and accompanying them 
home. They Avere both very much alarmed, but as 
he did not indulge in any further eccentricities, and 
their home Avas only a very short distance aAvay, 
they arrived without having suffered any further 
annoyance except that caused by the fact that as 
tlicy passed the gates of St, Domneya’s Priory, they 


36 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


saw two of the hated St. Rhadegunds smoking 
their cigarettes on the lawn inside the railings. The 
automatic way in which the pretty twins averted 
their heads from the loathsome sight attracted their 
brother’s attention. 

“ What, not reconciled to the new tenants yet ? ” 
said he, much amused. “ Of course I know they’re 
beastly cads, but still I should have thought you’d 
have got on more comfortably by being on good 
terms with them.” 

This was said more to his mother, who had walked 
on quietly on the outside of the group with only the 
briefest of greetings to her son, than to the little 
girls. 

“ Oh, Edwai’d, you don’t know what dreadful 
people they are, nor how shockingly they’ve be- 
haved ! ” said Olive, who was still puzzled by her 
brother’s vagaries at the station, but was reassured 
on seeing that his manner with them was exactly 
the same as usual. 

“How dreadful! What have they done? Do 
you want me to go and thrash any of them ? ” he 
asked. 

But his mother, not so easily satisfied as her two 
daughters, answered for them quickly : 

“ Of course not, of course not. The children ex- 
aggerate. We have nothing to complain of.” 

But Olive and Myrtle exchanged looks of such 
meaning at this point that their brother’s curiosity 
was effectually aroused. As, however, by this time 
they had reached home, it was easy for Mrs. Blean 
to secure' a diversion. She took Edward at once up 


A DAJVGA'BOUS PIIOTECTOB. 


37 


to the tiny room which was rather ambitiously 
called her boudoir. It just held a writing-table, 
two chairs, a few shelves, and a waste-paper basket. 

Edward threw himself into one of the chairs 
rather sulkily. 

“Now I’m to be catechised, I suppose,” he said, 
shortly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “ What 
I’ve been doing, why I’m here, how long I can stay, 
and the rest of it. Well, one part is very easily 
answered — why I’m here. I w^ant some money — I 
must have it. There ! ” 

Now Mrs. Blean ’was used to these appeals, but 
not to this tone. It added to the alarm she felt — 
an alarm which swallowed up all her mortification 
at her son’s undutiful behavior. Her poor anxious 
face quivered, her arms were aching to go round 
his neck. But he frowned her off. As there was a 
long i^ause, he raised his head and moved impa- 
tiently. 

“ How much can you let me have ? ” 

“ My dear boy,” she faltered, “ I can’t let you have 
any just now. I haven’t got any, except ” 

Her habitual truthfulness betrayed her into the 
folly of this last word. When she stopped, of course 
her son Edward pressed her. 

“ Except what ? Let me have that, whatever it is.” 

“ I was going to say except what was absolutely 
necessary for our current expenses. Your father 
wrote for some the week before last, and I had to 
send him all I could scrape together. You must— 
you must wait.” 

He sprang up impatiently, moving about with a 


38 A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 

restlessness which alarmed his mother more and 
more. 

“ I can’t wait, I tell you, I can’t. I must have 
some money to-morrow, or the next day at the latest. 
You can find it for me somehow ; people with prop- 
erty can always raise money. I tell you I must 
have it.” 

“ But what do you want it for ? ” . 

“ Oh, heaps of things. Nobody can get on with- 
out money, and I’m always short — always.” 

He got up, looked out of the window, which was 
at the front of the house, commanding a good view 
of the trees in the Priory grounds. Then he put his 
hands wearily up to his head, and was silent for a 
few moments. The view from the window ap- 
parently sent his thoughts into a new channel. 

“ I think it’s awfully silly of you, mamma, to quar- 
rel with those people who have taken the Priory — or 
to let the girls quarrel with them, which is the same 
thing,” he added, as he saw his mother about to pro- 
test. “ Olive and Myrtle turned their heads away 
in the rudest manner when they saw two of the sons 
in the garden. Now it’s absurd to pretend that they 
haven’t a right to walk about the place they’ve 
rented, and you’ll end by driving away good tenants, 
if you don’t take care.” 

“ It isn’t my fault, Edward,” said Mrs. Blean, who, 
utterly puzzled and distressed by the change in her 
son, thought it best to humor him as much as pos- 
sible. “ You see they are not quite the same sort of 
people as the rest of our neighbors, and so they 
don’t get on very well with anybody.” 


A DAJVQEROUS PROTECTOR. 39 

“ Oh, but that’s such rot ! ” 

Poor Mrs. Blean was thunder-struck. To hear 
such a word from the lips of her darling son seemed 
to her the most striking proof of entire demoraliza- 
tion that he had yet given. Iln went on without 
noticing the effect of his shocking language : “ N^o- 

body troubles about that nowadays. In our grand- 
mothers’ time, I believe, people never condescended 
to know anybody else until they had found out their 
history for four generations back. Now, in town, if 
a man’s got a big house, and above all if he gives 
good champagne, you go to the house and drink the 
champagne if his father drove a penny ’bus. These 
people are rich, very rich ; the old man has some 
mines out in America which may make him a mill- 
ionaire any day. He might be very useful to you, 
and here you all go insulting them.” 

“My dear Edward,” said Mrs. Blean gently, “how 
can you say that without knowing anything ? You 
are tired now, and worried perhaps. Go and dress 
for dinner ; it will be ready in a few minutes ; and 
presently we will have another talk, and I will do 
the best I can to satisfy you on every point.” 

Edward opened the door slowly, looking on the 
ground. 

“ Money too ?” he said, in a sort of sleepy way. 

“ Yes, money too, as far as I can,” said his mother, 
with a sigh. 

Modest as the establishment in the village house 
was, the ladies still kept up the custom of dressing 
for dinner, and assembled in the little dining-room 
which the former occupants of the place had been 


40 


A TEUmBLE FAMILY. 


content to call the back parlor, in low-necked dresses. 
Edward, however, came down in a morning coat and 
waistcoat, and said, in answer to his mother’s look 
of reproach, that to keep up the customs of a man- 
sion in a cottage wfis absurd. And the girls looked 
just a little inclined to agree with him. 

Of course the twins had not been able to resist tlie 
temptation of telling their elder sisters of Edward’s 
behavior at the station, and equally of course the 
elder girls had decided that he must have been the 
victim of a champagne-luncheon. When, therefore, 
they had to admit that the guess was a wrong one, 
they were at first as much bewildered as their mother 
herself. Edward was brusque, somewhat absent in 
manner from time to time, and more slangy in his talk 
than ever before ; but there was nothing about him 
to suggest that only half-an-hour before he had been 
under the influence of drink. The amount of wine 
he consumed at dinner, however, made them rather 
uneasy ; still they could not say that it seemed to 
have any effect upon him, and when they went into 
the drawing-room, there was still nothing in his 
manner to suggest that he was not perfectly sober. 

His mother would have liked to have him again 
by herself for a little while, but he seized the tAvins 
each by a shoulder and took them over to the 
windoAv-seat to read them a lecture; ‘ 

“ Noav look here, young Avomen,” he said, severely, 
“ I’m going to talk to you about your idiotic conduct 
in thinking you can snub those young fellows at the 
Priory. Never mind Avhat their father was or is. 
The sons are all decent young chaps enough, much 


A JJAKGi:i?Oirs PROTECTOR. 41 

better educated than I’ve been, and much better- 
looking.” 

“ Oh, yes, that’s true,” said Myrtle thoughtfully, 
without noticing the rather disparaging nature of 
her remark. 

“ W ell, then, you be more civil, both of you. The 
best thing that could possibly happen to any of you 
would be for one of those young fellows to take a 
fancy to you and ” 

But here he was interrupted by such a chorus of 
shrill feminine indignation as drowned even his 
deepest big brother voice. He was surrounded in 
an instant by all his sisters, exclaiming, protesting ; 
haughty, angry, contemptuous, and fierce. The very 
suggestion had insulted them as they had never, 
never been insulted before. The twins went further. 
In spite of warning looks from their mother, in spite 
of her attempted interference, they hurled at their 
brother, in alternate sentences, a full account of their 
supposed grievances of that day and the day before, 
winding up by saying that one of them had set a 
swarm of rats running at Jane ; and as they said this, 
they pointed triumphantly to the bandage which, 
hidden by a ribbon, was round her right wrist. 

The effect of their words shocked the poor little 
twins beyond measure. Edward listened in a sort of 
stupid silence to their tale, as if he scarcely took it 
in. When, however, they had finished, he repeated 
to himself, in a slow, rather thick voice : “ Let a rat 
bite my sister’s wrist ! My sister’s ! ” 

Then, before they could add another word, he 
sprang up from the window-seat with a fierce cry. 


42 


A TERRIBLE FAMlLT. 


and stood for a few seconds in the middle of the 
room, swaying backwards and forwards, staring in 
front of him, repeating the words he had just uttered 
in a still lower voice than before. His face had lost 
all trace of color, and become a leaden white. 

His mother, running towards him, called out 
“ Edward ! ” in a heart-broken tone of voice. He 
started, looked at her, and brushed her arm roughly 
aside, Avhile his face grew crimson to the roots of 
his hair. 

“ I’ll teach them,” he said between his teeth — “ I’ll 
teach them to insult a member of my family. I’ll 
shoot them — shoot the first man among them that 
refuses to apologize.” 

He spoke so indistinctly that the girls could not 
understand all he said. But J ane understood enough 
to reply : “ Oh, Edward, they did apologize — they 
did.” But before she had finished speaking he had 
broken away from their detaining arms, and was 
running down the street towards the Priory. 

The girls exchanged looks of terror. Their mother, 
making a brave effort, tried to reassure them. 

“It will be all right,” she said, “it is only his 
way of speaking. He has been ill lately, I can see 
that ; and he is worried, very much worried. They 
will see that he only wants an apology, as any high- 
spirited brother would do. And they will give it. 
It will be all right.” 

The elder girls exchanged glances, and affected to 
acquiesce entirely in their mother’s suggestion. But 
they got together for a moment in the corner by 
the piano, and Jane whispered to Pamela : 


A I)AJVGi;iiOUS PROTECTOR. 48 

“ What do you think is the matter ? ” 

And Pamela answered in a lower whisper still : 

“ It looks as if — as if he was going — out of his 
mind.” 

“ That’s what I think,” Jane whispered back. 


44 


A TEIUIIBLE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER lY. 

YEKY HOSTILITIES. 

Yot one of the four girls cared much for their 
only brother, and it was not their fault. As not 
unfrequently happens in a family where there is 
only one boy, the mother, judicious enough in the 
education of her daughters, had fallen into the error 
of making an idol of that one son and of letting him 
know it. So that Edward, already handicapped by 
the inheritance of his father’s utterly selfish disposi- 
tion, had sunk to the level of a mere burden upon 
his family, about whose doings, moreover, there was 
always a little anxiety brooding in the minds of his 
feminine relatives. 

This latest action of his, following his eccentrici- 
ties at the station, filled them all with dismay, 
which the girls tried to hide for the sake of their 
mother. But knowing the temper of the young St. 
Rhadegunds, they felt some excitement about the 
result of his visit. Olive, indeed, secreting herself 
behind a heavy curtain in the window-seat, put her 
little pink face against the pane and watched for 
his return. In about a quarter of an hour from the 
time of his departure, there came from behind the 
curtain a little suppressed explosion of girlish laugh- 
ter. Myrtle slipped into the window-seat, and there 


VERY OPEN HOSTILITIES. 45 

was another suppressed explosion. Then there were 
steps in the little stone-paved yard. 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean, still trying to hide her anxiety, 
got up and went out of the room. Behind her back 
the elder girls peeped into the narroAv passage, and 
were in time to see the door open and a strange 
figure enter. 

With water streaming from his hair, his hands, 
his clothes, covered with green duck-weed from 
head to foot, and with his feet going squelch-squelch 
in his boots as he walked along, Edward presented 
a piteous spectacle. Ills mother screamed with in- 
dignation and solicitude. 

“ Who has done thi;^ ? ” she asked, most unneces- 
sarily. 

He spluttered out the name of her tenant, with 
epithets which struck terror to her heart. 

“ Hush, hush, Edward,” she said, as she drew him 
upstairs. “ It is infamous, infamous ; but they shall 
apologize, they shall. I will insist upon it.” 

“ Apologies Av- won’t prevent my c-catching a b-b- 
beastly cold ! ” snarled Edward, as he disappeared 
from his sisters’ sight, round the head of the stair- 
case. 

The girls shut themselves softly into the draw- 
ing-room, and laughed, as noiselessly as they could, 
till the tears ran doAvn their cheeks. It Avas only 
Avhen they heard their mother’s step descending the 
stairs that they left off, and hurriedly dispersing to 
different improvised occupations, tried to look as if 
they Avere very sorry. But their mother Avas not 
so easily deceived; and being still much excited 


46 


A TJ^BItlBLE FAMILY. 


about the outrage to her son, she scolded them all 
angrily, and said they ought to be ashamed of them- 
selves to laugh, when their brother had only tried 
to avenge the indignities offered to them. Then 
she sat down to the writing-table, and with angry 
eyes and tightened lips dashed off a hurried note, 
which she addressed to — 

“ John St. IviiAnEGuxD, Esq., 

“ St. Domxeva’s Pkiory, 

“ Salterxes Court, 

“ Kext.” 

She left the room, called tl^e housemaid, and in- 
structed her to take the note to the Priory at once. 

But Jane, hearing the order given, slipped out 
into the passage, and detained the maid by a ges- 
ture, while she put her arm round her mother’s 
shoulders and whispered : 

“ Don’t send it, mammy dear. I think we’ve been 
a little in the wrong as far as these people are con- 
cerned. It is natural for you to be angry, but 
hadn’t you better wait and write to-morrow ? ” 

“ No, you must allow me to know best. Go at 
once, Amy.” 

And Jane went sorrowfully and apprehensively 
back to the drawing-room, while Mrs. Hoad-Blean 
returned to her half-drowned darling upstairs. 
Pamela looked at her sister inquiringly, and Jane 
shook her head. 

“ It was no use,” she said. “ I’m afraid there is 
going to be what Edward would call ‘ a jolly row.’ 


VEEY OPEN HOSTILITIES. 47 

I shall waylay Amy and try to find out how they 
took it.” 

So wdien the maid came back, Jane went out to 
meet her and asked who took the note. 

“ I took it round to the front, ma’am, ’cos of that 
great barking dog in the yard that I’m frightened 
of. The young gentlemen was in the front, smok- 
ing, and all laughing very merry. And one of them 
took the letter, and when he see who it was from, 
they nearly laughs again, and then pretends to be 
very solemn. And he told me, the great tall one 
did, to wait for an answer. An’ he went indoors, 
an’ 1 heard a great shout, like as if he an’ somebody 
else was burstiiT themselves with laughing, ma’am. 
An’ then he come out an’ give me this note.” 

Jane took the letter, which was directed in a 
beautifully neat masculine hand to — 

“ Mns. IIoad-Eleax, 

“ Salterxes, 

“ Kext.” 

“Very well, Amy; I will take it upstairs,” she 
said. 

As soon as Mrs. Blean had read the note, Jane 
saw by the expression of her face that her fears 
were well-founded. 

“ May I read it mamma ? ” she asked, gently. 

“ If you like,” said her mother, in a desi)airing 
tone. 

Jane took it up and read these words : 

“Mr, St, Ilhadegund has received Mrs, Hoad- 


48 


A TERBIBLE FAMIL Y. 


Blean’s letter, and is glad of the opportunity of 
affording the explanation which Mrs. IIoad-Blean 
requires. Mr. Edward IIoad-Blean having called at 
the Priory about half-an-hour ago without his hat, 
in a state of great excitement, and threatened to shoot 
Mr. St. Rhadegund and his family, that family, with 
the sanction of Mr. St. Rhadegund, felt comi)elled, 
in the best interests of themselves and of Mr. Edward 
Hoad-Blean himself, to eject that gentleman from 
the premises. They regret exceedingly that, in 
crossing the yard, the gentleman had the misfortune 
to fall into the duck-pond. 

“ If Mrs. IIoad-Blean will appoint an hour at which 
Mr. St. Rhadegund can call upon her, he will be 
pleased to arrange to give up the Priory immedi- 
ately, which, from the tone of Mrs. IIoad-Blean’ s 
note, he understands to be what she desires.” 

When she had read this, Jane looked grave too. 

“ I was afraid of something like this, mamma,” she 
said, sadly. “ It would be very inconvenient for 
them to give it up, would it not ? ” 

“ Inconvenient ! ” exclaimed her mother bitterly. 
“ It will be much more than that. I simply don’t 
know what I shall do. Of course I had reckoned 
upon their tenancy.”' 

Jane looked thoughtful. 

“ It’s a pity,” she said. Then, after a few mo- 
ments’ consideration, she said : “ You wish them to 
stay, don’t you, mammy ? ” 

“Of course I do. But you see it’s of no use. 
They won’t.” 


VEliY OPEN HOSTILITIES. 


49 


“ Will you give me full power to treat with them^ 
and arrange things so that they shall stay ? ” said 
Jane, with decision. 

“ It won’t he of any use.” 

“ May I try^? ” 

“Oh, yes, if you like. You can’t do more harm 
than has already been done by you as well as the 
rest,” answered her mother impatiently. 

“Then I will go and see the old gentleman at 
once,” returned Jane, without taking any notice of 
her mother’s petulant reproach. “ He spoke to me 
very good-naturedly this morning, and I think he is 
kind-hearted, if only he is approached in the right 
way. Good-bye, mammy. Perhaps I shall have 
some good news when I come back.” 

Now Mrs. IIoad-Blean had had occasion to put 
some reliance on her eldest daughter’s judgment, 
but she thought that this was a case beyond her 
powers. But she gave the girl a kiss, and a faint 
smile of gratitude for her sympathy, before slie let 
her go. 

If the distcacted mother could have witnessed the 
scene which was at that moment taking place in the 
dining-room at the Priory, her doubts as to the 
success of her daughter’s mission would have been 
doubled. 

As soon as Amy had started to carry the answer- 
ing note, which had contained the sentiments of old 
Mr. St. Bhadegund in the language and hand-writ- 
ing of his son Dick, the three younger boys returned 
tempestuously to the dining-room to learn what 
that note had said. Jim was indignant that it had 

4 


50 


A TEEBIBLE FAMILY, 


been couched in such comparatively inoffensive 
terms. 

“You should have given it ’em hot and strong, 
Dick,” he grumbled. “ I wish you’d let me write 
it. I’d have put in something that would have 
made them curl up, especially that stuck-up May- 
pole of a Lady Disdain who was here this morning. 
I didn’t think I could hate a ^irl as I hate that one. 
With her martyr-like airs of not minding, and being 
too proud to scream. I should like to throw a pail 
of water over her, and see if that wouldn’t make 
her squeal out.” 

“ lliat one ! ” cried Dick. “ Why, she’s a pearl 
compared to the little hussy with the dark hair 
that cheeked me so yesterday. I swear I could 
have boxed her ears.” 

“ I don’t see so much harm in those two big ones,” 
cried little Bob. “It’s those beastly twins that 
I can’t stand. They look at me just as if I was a 
ragamuffin out of the streets, and turn away their 
heads whenever they see any of us coming. I’m 
going to put a string across the road next time I 
see them coming past.” 

“ No, boys, no, I can’t allow none o’ that,” broke 
in their father’s kindly voice in grave tones. “ You 
mayn’t be what them folks calls gentlemen, though 
what the difference is between you and them I can’t 
see, ’ceptin’ you’ve the misfortune to ’ave a father 
that was born before folks got so mighty partic’lar 
about them there h’s. But you’re men, and you 
mustn’t play no mean tricks on them that’s only 
women.” 


vehy open hostilities. 


51 


“You’re too indulgent, father,” said Dick, who 
had stretched himself out on the morocco-covered 
sofa, with a cigar between his lips. “ There isn’t 
so much difference between men and women that 
the good behavior should have to be all on one side. 
It was all very well to call them angels in your 
time, when they just existed, and simpered, and 
didn’t make themselves actively offensive. But 
now that they do just what men do, only don’t do 
it half as well, they’ve shown themselves up, and 
broken the spell, and let us see that they’re just a 
superior sort of animal, and so much our inferiors 
as not to be worthy to be named in the same breath 
with us.” 

All the other boys roared with appreciative 
laughter, in which their father joined with a twinkle 
in his eye and a shake of the head. 

“You’ll change your toon some day,” he said, 
dryly. “ We all go after the gals sooner or later, an’ 
it’s better to go early than late. If you leave it late 
you may ’ave the luck of poor old Fitzjocelyn at the 
Court. married late, an’ see what ’e’s got! ” 

But the outburst of abuse of Lady Constantia 
which followed these words was mild compared 
with what they had lavished on the IIoad-Blean 
girls. The old lady was amusing, and they could 
not have spared her. They did not take to heart 
her enmity as they did that of their foes of their 
own generation. Presently Jim asked a question 
which cast a slight gloom upon the party. 

“I suppose, then, governor, after that letter of 
Dick’s, we shall have to turn out, eh?” 


52 


A TElllilBLE FAMILY. 


“Yes, if she wants us to, certainly,” replied the 
father. “And I sha’n’t he sorry neither. I never 
lived on bad terms with my neighbors before, and 
I don’t like it. I thought we should ha’ got along 
here as comfortable as anything, for I must say I 
quite took a fancy to the old lady and those pretty 
gals.” 

“ Pretty ! ” echoed Tom contemptuously. “ I 
don’t see this great beauty I hear so much about. 
Why, that Pamela that they call the prettiest girl 
in Kent, I don’t see that she’s good-looking at all. 
Kobody would think anything of her out in the 
States.” 

“ Oh, I don’t say that,” put in Dick, with an air of 
generosity. “ She’s got a fairish complexion, and a 
decent figure, and her eyes aren’t bad, and her hair 
looks pretty in the sun. And she hasn’t got the 
enormous splay feet some of these English girls have, 
either ; or else she wears better boots, or something. 
And there’s something about the way her, head’s 
put on her shoulders that’s rather taking, and her 
ears aren’t too big, nor her hands. But she’s a vixen 
and no mistake ! ” 

“ You seem to have looked her over pretty well ! ” 
said Jim. “ Pm sure I shouldn’t have discovered so 
many good points if Pd looked at her five years. 
To my mind, the only one of the family who has any 
pretensions to good looks is that beast Jane. Kow 
she has got pretty hair and a good figure, if you like ! 
But if ever a girl tried hard to make her good looks 
count for nothing, and to make men run away from 
her like the plague, it’s that girl,” 


VERY OPEN HOSTILITIES. 


53 


“Well, boys, they’res not the only girls in the 
world. I think we’ll try farther north next time. 
I Avas born in Kent, in a workhouse for all I know, 
and I Avas dragged up in Lunnon. But noAv I’ve 
tried ’em both since I’ve made my pile, and I don’t 
care so much for neither of ’em. S’pose Ave look out 
for a place up Yorkshire Avay?” 

But the boys Avere not eager in their answer. 
The enmity betAveen them and their neighbors had 
undoubtedly given an interest in life to the lads — an 
interest rendered doubly keen by the fact that some 
of these enemies Avere of the opposite sex and not 
ill-looking. They didn’t Avant to go to Yorkshire, 
but they felt that it would be a little inconsistent to 
say so. In the slight pause which followed. Bob, 
Avho had his elbows on the windoAv-ledge, and his 
cheeks puffed up on his hands in the endeavor to 
hide his eyes with them, suddenly turned round and 
pirouetted further into the room. 

“ It’s one of the girls, the eldest ! ” he exclaimed, 
in tones of excitement. 

There Avas a perceptible stir in the emotions of 
every member of the group. Jim Avas fired into 
anger. 

“ She’s got more cheek than all the rest, that one,” 
he said, fiercely. “Let me see her, father. I won’t 
be rude— really I Avon’t ; only I’ll just let her under- 
stand that we can’t have her tipsy brother interrupt- 
ing us at dinner to tell us that he’s going to put a 
bullet through our heads ! ” 

Then a hush fell upon the group, as they heard 
the front-door bell ring ; there Avas silence until a 


54 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


servant came in to announce that Miss Hoad-Blean 
desired to see Mr. St: Rhadegund, and that she had 
been shown into the drawing-room. 

The old man got up, and told his boys to behave 
themselves during his absence. 

“ Now, mind, no tricks ; I won’t have no tricks,” 
he said. “ It isn’t her fault she’s got a cub of a 
brother ; I expect she’s come to say she’s sorry for 
what he did.” 

“Now, father,” said Jim emphatically, “don’t you 
let her talk you over. And don’t you say it doesn’t 
matter, and you’re sure it is not her fault, or any- 
thing of that sort. You let her eAt humble-pie first. 
Tell her we’re all very angry, and that we’re not 
used to that sort of thing. Say everything you can 
think of that’ll make her wild and mad. Make her 
cry if you can.” 

And, bound upon honor to carrj^ out these simple 
instructions, his father left the four young ruffians 
together. 


THE OLD HOME WITH A NEW FACE. 55 


CHAPTER V. 

THE OLD HOME WITH A NEW FACE. 

It was the first time that Jane had been in the old 
home since the arrival of the new tenants. Jane 
loved space, and air, and ease ; and she stood in the 
long drawing-room which had always been her favo- 
rite room, drinking in the beauty of it, of the vaulted 
stone roof which had been their x^ride, of the wide stone 
fire-place ; above all, of the view through old stone 
windows of the beautiful green lawns and shady trees 
outside. Some changes she noticed, without being 
able altogether to disapprove of them. A handsome 
tablecloth, of sober coloring, a good imitation of 
old tapestry, was on one of the side-tables. Some 
spindle-legged whatnots had been removed ; and a 
variety of cosy arm-chairs, of different sizes and 
shapes, seemed to suggest that each member of the 
family had chosen and bought his own favorite sort 
of seat. And there was a mounted lion’s skin at 
one end, which covered a worn space of the car- 
pet and called forth Jane’s unqualified admiration. 
There were some bronze statuettes too, which Jane 
affected superciliously to regard as fortunate mis- 
takes on the part of their purchasers, so beautiful 
were they. And there was a new grand piano which 
Jane’s fingers longed to try. 


56 


A tehrible family. 


Jane had taken in both the old objects and the 
new in a few rapid glances when old Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund came hi. 

It is sad to record that he did not fulfil the iiroin- 
ises he had made by tacit assent to his sons, of 
treating the young lady with harshness and discour- 
tesy. On the contrary, he held out his hand to her 
on entering, with a good-humored smile upon his 
handsome face. 

“ Glad to see you, my dear, in your old home, and 
I wish we saw you here oftener,” he said. “ ’Ope you 
won’t think my boys have knocked the place about 
much.” 

Jane, who was by no means so calm as she looked, 
was grateful for this kindly greeting. 

“I’m quite sure you take as much care of the 
place as we ourselves could do,” said she, with a 
very faint reflection of his smile. She tried to go 
on, tried to come at once to the subject in hand, but 
she felt a little nervous, and so at first she stammered 
and failed. 

At once he came to her rescue, offering her one of 
the arm-chairs, first brushing it with his hand like 
a cottager. 

“Well, I don’t say they’re quite as gentle-like in 
their ways as you young ladies, them wild young 
fellows. But their ’earts are all right, and their 
bark’s worse than their bite. ’Ope your brother’s 
none the worse for his duckin’,” he added, with a 
look which was half shy, half sly, to help her to what 
he felt sure was the object of her visit. 

Jane had not seated herself on the offered chair. 


THE OLD HOME WITH A HEW EACE. 57 

but was leaning against the high back of it, which 
she grasped tightly with one hand. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ we are so sorry, so much 
ashamed of him ! It looked as if we had sent him, 
when really we have been miserable about it. He 
only arrived this evening, and we are sure he can’t 
be very well, as his conduct has been most strange. 
I’m afraid he made himself very objectionable,” she 
went on, with anxiety in her eyes. 

The old man shook his head. “ ]My dear, he was 
drunk. Excuse my puttin’ it plain. You needn’t 
tell the old lady, but that was what was the matter 
with him. ’E bust ’is way in past the servants, and 
said he’d shoot us all. Of course the boys wouldn’t 
stand that ; ’twasn’t to be expected of ’em. So they 
just up and turns ’im out, and p’r’aps they wasn’t 
too partic’lar which way they led ’im to the gate, 
since that accident didn’t seem quite promise’ ous- 
like, I admit.” 

“ Of course he deserved it,” said Jane humbly. 
“ I’ve come to apologize, not to take his part.” 

Mr. St. Rhadegund looked at her shrewdly. 

“Your mother didn’t send you, then?” 

Jane blushed. 

“ My mother knows that I’ve come, and knows 
part of what I’m going to say. But not all. Mr. 
St. Rhadegund,” she went on rapidly, her breath 
coming and going quickly and her face growing ani- 
mated, “ I have come to do a very bold thing. I 
have come to put myself at your mercy ; in fact, to 
say to you what my mother would not and could 


58 


A T£nj?iBzi: FAjfizr. 


not say— to tell yon something about ns which per- 
haps yon do not know.” 

But the old man interrupted her good-humoredly, 
“ Law bless you, my dear, don’t take on so. I can 
guess what you’ve come to say. You don’t want us 
to take the old lady at her word and turn out.” 

“ That’s it — oh, that’s it exactly,” cried Jane, in 
much relief. 

“ Well, well, there’s an end of the trouble then. 
The old lady was angry at what my boys did to her 
boy, and wrote off to say more than she meant.” 

“ Oh, oh, yes, how clever you are ! You see the 
difficulty we are in, we girls. The one son out- 
weighs us all with her, of course, and we can’t dic- 
tate to our own mother ; we can only suggest. You 
do understand, don’t you? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I understand right enough. And a lot 
more than you say. But why didn’t you come and 
speak out frank to me before ? It ’ud have saved lots 
of unpleasantness. Do you think because I’m not a 
fine gentleman I’ve got no eyes in my ’ead? And 
look at my boys now ! I’ve ’ad ’em edicated, for I 
got my money, or part of it, long before little Bob 
was born. Ain’t they fit to talk to you or anybody? 
Lots of fine folks would have taken ’em up, as you call 
it, long ago, if only they’d ’ave been willin’ to turn 
their back on their old father. But there was too 
much of the man in ’em for that, and so, instead of 
bein’ reckoned fine gentlemen themselves, they’re 
only my sons — my splendid sons.” 

Jane was touched by the old man’s earnestness 
and feeling. 


THE OLi) HOME wirrt a mew face. 50 


“Why,” she said, simply, “there is no one in the 
neighborhood to be compared with them. And no- 
body denies it. But they are just a little aggressive, 
aren’t they ? ” 

“ Maybe so,” said the old man, smiling. “ But you 
gals are every bit as bad as them.” 

Jane had come forward to take leave, but Mr. St. 
Bhadegund detained her offered hand. 

“ Come and ’ave a look at the stables,” said he. 
“ I’ll get a lantern and take you over.” 

Jane did not wish to disturb the newly-signed 
truce by refusing ; so she was soon crossing the lawn 
overlooked by the dining-room, in the company of 
the master of the bouse. 

Already the stables had been improved and were 
in course of being enlarged, for one hobby of the 
whole family was horses. 

“ My sister Pamela ought to have come here instead 
of me,” said Jane. “ I like horses, but I have more 
respect than friendship for them. Now my sister 
can make friends with a strange horse at once. And 
she can ride anything.” 

“ Can she reely now ? I’ve never seen her on 
’orseback.” 

“ No,” said Jane, with a little laugh, “ she doesn’t 
ride now.” 

“ Ah, dear, dear, the old trouble ! ” said Mr. St. 
Rhadegund sympathetically, while Jane reddened; 
“ that’s very ’ard, very ’ard.” 

“ Haven’t you seen a little bay mare, with one 
white fore-leg, driven about in Hodgkin’s cart ? ” 

“ Hodgkin the market-gard’ner ? Ay, so I ’ave, so 


60 


A TERRIBLE FAMILT. 


I ’ave; a nioe-going little animal too? Did she 
belong to you ? ” 

“ To my sister Pamela.” 

They went on through the stables, but the host 
had become silent abd thoughtful. At last, when 
the tour of inspection was finished, and he was shak- 
ing hands with Jane at the gate, he said, diffidently : 

“ If we was out in Colorado, my boys could come 
round on their own nags, with a couple more saddled, 
ready for you gbls, in the morning ; and you’d think 
nothing of havin’ a ride with ’em. But over ’ere, 
I s’pose you’d fly up if I were to suggest such a 
thing. There’s things like friendship and kindness 
out there in the new country, but over ’ere you can’t 
be friends and you mustn’t be kind to any one that 
doesn’t stand exactly where you do yourself. Good- 
night, my dear. And don’t let the old lady 
worrit.” 

“ You are very, very good — very good and kind,” 
said Jane as she shook his hand. 

And when she got home she told the other girls 
that they were never to speak disrespectfully of Mr. 
St. Rhadegund again. She spoke more guardedly to 
her mother, whose resentment at the treatment her 
darling son had received was still fresh ; but she told 
her that their tenant had received her very kindly, 
and that he had no wish to leave the Priory, unless 
they asked him to do so. 

In the mean time Mr. St. Rhadegund had been 
cross-examined by his boys as to his treatment of 
the young lady. 

“What did you take her into the stables for, 


THE OLE HOME with A NEW FACE. 61 

father? AYe saw you,” said Jim, with a suspicious 
frown. 

For to take any one over the stables was a special 
mark of Mr. St. Khadegund’s favor. 

“ You’ve let her get round yon, I know you have,” 
added Tom. 

“You’d better have left it to me, or to Jim,” said 
Dick gloomily. “ These women-folk have a way 
with them that it wants no end of nerve to resist. 
Now Jim would have been all fire, and I should 
have been a stone. I bet my bottom dollar you were 
neither.” 

“Well, p’r’aps I was as near to either as you 
would ha’ been yourselves, lads. She’s a nice girl, 
a real nice girl, and as han’some as a queen. It 
makes me feel kind o’ uncomfortable to see them 
lasses trudging along afoot, when I guess it’s the 
fault of their men-folk they aren’t livin’ here in their 
old home still. Seems the second one — Pamela, I 
think they call her — is fond o’ ridin’, and ’ad to sell 
her little mare to Hodgkin the market-gard’ner. * It 
made me real sorry to hear it all, that it did. And 
the girl that fond o’ the animal too, it seems ! ” 

“ There ! I said she’d got round you ! ” said Jim 
triumphantly. 

But Dick, who had listened to this little story 
about the mare with a queer look on his face, stared 
at the candles and said nothing. 

The next day passed without any encounters, 
hostile or otherwise, between the two families. The 
only event worth recording was Edward’s early 
departure by train to spend the day at Margate, 


62 


A TEBIilBLE FAMILY. 


Avliicli, though not quite the nearest, was certainly 
the liveliest watering-place within reach, although 
the season for the Jews and the Gentiles of the East 
End had not yet begun. He returned home late, 
and Mrs. Hoad-Bleifti met him and took him straight 
upstairs without letting him meet his sisters. But 
the girls perceived, by their mother’s looks next 
morning, that the visit of her darling was not prov- 
ing an unmixed pleasure. Again that second morn- 
ing he evaded his mother’s watchfulness, and went 
off by the same train without saying where he was 
going. Jane saw the cloud on her mother’s face 
when she knew that he had gone. 

Jane, with her gentle voice and manner, could say 
things which other people dared not say. 

“ Why do you let him go, mamma ? ” she whispered. 
“You needn’t let him have the money.” 

Her mother shook her head. 

“ My dear,” she said, with white lips, “ I daren’t 
refuse.” 

Jane said no more. She saw fear in her mother’s 
face which had better not he put into words — at 
least, not yet. 

It was two days after Jane’s visit to the Priory 
that Pamela, who refused to take Jane’s new and 
more humane view of the St. Rhadegund family, 
had an encounter with her arch-enemy Dick, which 
threatened to make the relations between the two 
houses more strained than ever. She had been per- 
forming the office of reader at a Mother’s Meeting 
held by Lady Constantia in the school-room, a little 
stone building just outside the church-yard and a few 


THE OLD HOME WITH A NE IV FACE. 63 

paces from the “Gray Horse,” the second in im- 
portance of the inns of the village. The meeting had 
broken up, and the mothers were standing, prepared 
to go, and were enjoying the benefit of private advice 
from Lady Constantia, whom they all made a point 
of consulting in turn about some trivial domestic 
matter because they knew she liked it, and because 
each was anxious to fix herself individually in the 
remembrance of the local Lady Bountiful. Lady 
Constantia was in her element on these occasions, 
and her loud, decided voice was* ringing through 
the little school-room, the stuffy atmosphere of which 
made Pamela’s head ache. The girl couldn’t bear 
Lady Constantia, and was not in the very best of 
tempers, having received a command from that lady 
to wait for her. At last Pamela ventured to open 
the door, and stood just outside, drinking in the 
air, which was fresh and sweet after a shower of rain. 
She peeped out to the left, where the old “ Three 
Tuns,” an ancient inn, which had been cruelly mod- 
ernized, and the trees of the vicarage garden made 
a pretty village picture. She peeped to the left, and 
lo! there stood her little mare. Pearl, hers still 
in heart, though it was now some time since the 
mare had had to be sold to Hodgkin. 

Pamela could never restrain a little exclamation at 
the sight of Pearl. But here was a puzzle. The 
little dog-cart to which the mare was harnessed was 
not Hodgkin’s certainly. Had her old favorite 
changed hands again? While she asked herself 
this question, she could not help calling out in a low 
voice, “ Pearl I — my little Pearl ! ” The mare, whose 


64 


A TERRIBLE FA3IILY. 


head was turned towards her, recognized her voice, 
and made a step in her direction. Her owner, 
whoever he was, was inside the inn. 

Again she called softly, “ Pearl ! ” and again the 
mare made a step forward. Then she softly closed 
the school-house door behind lier, and stepped care- 
fully through the mud to the side of her old favorite. 
At that very moment, Hodgkin himself, who had 
been making a purchase in the butcher’s shop oj)- 
posite, crossed the road, and touching his hat, said, 
with an air of great complacency : 

“ Your little mare has got a good berth this time, 
Miss Pamela.” 

Before she could answer, the voice of Dick St. 
Rhadegund, who was “ chaffing ” the pretty barmaid 
at the “Gray Horse,” fell on Pamela’s ears and 
startled her. 

“You’ve not sold her to those people at the 
Priory, Hodgkin, have you ? ” she asked, in a tragic 
voice. 

“Yes, ma’am, I have. Mr. Dick must have 
noticed her about, for he came yesterday round to 
my place, and says he, ‘ Hodgkin,’ says he, ‘ I want 
that little mare of yours,’ says he, ‘ so name your own 
price.’ An’ I named a good ’un, you may be sure, 
ma’am, for the little mare’s worth it. An’ he said 
all right without so much as a word o’ chaffering. 
’Twas a good day’s work for me, ma’am, I don’t 
mind telling you.” 

But Pamela was distressed beyond measure. 

“Oh, how could you? You might have spoken 
to me, Hodgkin. That man has a spite against us, 


THE OLD HOME WITH A NEW FACE. 65 


and I’m sure he bought Pearl on purpose to annoy 
me. Oh, I know he won’t treat her well! ” 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth, when, 
turning sharply from Hodgkin to the mare, she saw 
Pearl’s new master frowning at her from the other 
side of the animal. 

“ That’s a most unwarrantable thing for you to 
say,” he said, angrily. “ It would serve you right if 
I did treat her badly, and ” 

“ Only you’re not in Colorado now, and there’s a 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in 
this country, which prevent brutes from working 
their wicked will on dumb creatures,” cried Pamela, 
with her black eyes flashing Are. 

At this moment, unluckily. Lady Const antia came 
out of the school-house. Hodgkin beat a safe re- 
treat ; Dick sprang up into the dog-cart and seized 
the reins. 

“What’s this, my dear, what’s this?” cried the 
lady of Salternes Court, overhearing enough of 
Pamela’s foolish words to perceive an excuse for 
her interference. 

But Pamela knew the autocrat’s capacity for 
pouring oil upon the flames, and she bit her lips 
and held her tongue. Lady Constantia turned to- 
wards Dick, who was drawing on his driving gloves 
without so much as a glance at her.- Lady Con- 
stantia was too much irritated by what she considered 
his insolence to follow the younger lady’s example 
and be wise. 

“Young man,” she said, solemnly, “I never 
threaten unless I mean to carry out my threat. If 


66 


A TEIIRIDLE FAMILY. 


I hear of your treating your horse with anything 
iike cruelty, I shall ” 

“ Clk — elk,” said Dick. “ Let’s see if . you can 

go.” 

Raising his whip with a great flourish, Dick gave 
the mare a sharp cut with it, which sent her oft’ at a 
spanking pace. Raising his arm again, he brought 
the whip clown with what looked like most ferocious 
lashings on the mare, but which, with a dexterity 
which he had acquired out cattle ranching, swept 
the mud on the ground without touching the 
animal. Lady Constantia shook her umbrella men- 
acingly. 

“ I’ll put a stop to your conduct, you scoundrel ! ” 
she said, with pursed lips. 

Pamela said nothing: she was broken-hearted. 
When Lady Constantia turned and looked at her, 
she could only burst into tears. Without a word of 
farewell, or apology, she went quickly away in the 
direction of her home. 

But she had to pass the Priory gates, and before 
she got to the little street in which she lived, Dick, 
who had made a round past Salternes Court, came 
up in his dog-cart. The mare was trotting along 
very quietly. 

When they came in sight of each other the dog- 
cart was only some thirty yards from Pamela, who 
stood for a moment still with the shock of the meet- 
ing. Dick drew rein at once and approached her at 
a foot-pace. But with a look of horror and disgust, 
Pamela, hastily drying her eyes, which were again 
wet with tears, ran with all the speed of her young 


THE OLD HOME WITH A NEW FACE. 67 

limbs to the corner of the little street, heedless of his 
entreating cry : 

“ Miss Pamela ! One moment ! — do wait one 
moment ! ” 

She never stopped until she had reached the door 
of her home. 


68 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTEK YI. 

THAT HORRID MR. ISAACSON. 

And so Jane’s humble visit to the Priory did 
very little good after all. For although she herself 
had established a warm feeling of friendship and 
kindliness between herself and old Mr. St. Phadegund, 
the obstinate twins still continued to turn away their 
pretty little faces whenever one of “ those horrid 
boys ” came in sight, and now between Dick and 
Pamela an entirely fresh feud had broken out. To 
do them justice, there was less fault now on the side of 
the Hoad-Blean girls than on that of their enemies ; 
for Tom, the third son, who had remained entirely 
unmoved by their personal charms, and who was the 
most pugnacious and vindictive of the brothers, did 
his best to keep the quarrel alive. 

This young man, unsusceptible as he was, had 
started an odd sort of flirtation with the down- 
trodden Harriet Fitzjocelyn. Despised by her 
mother, and neglected by her father, this young 
girl used to spend long hours in solitary wandering 
about the grounds of Salternes Court. Tom, from 
a nest which he had made for himself among the 
branches of a tree in the Priory paddock, saw the 
girl and was sorry for her. In the beginning 
Harriet, taking fright at the sight of the human 


THAT UOElilD MR, ISAACSON. 


69 


thing looking do^vn at her from the walnut tree, 
used to retreat, at sight of him, to the other end of 
the grounds. 'But becoming accustomed, as the days 
went on, to his silent presence, she had grown grad- 
ually bolder, until in the end it had become quite 
an accepted thing for them to exchange half a dozen 
demure words upon the state of the weather or the 
progress the fruit trees were making. 

At last one day she found him sitting on the wall 
that divided the Priory gromids from those of the 
Court. 

“ Good-morning,” said he. 

“ Good-morning,” said she. 

“ You don’t mind my sitting on your wall ? ” 

“ I can’t, since it’s yours, too.” 

“ Well, if you objected to my feet dangling over 
your side, I could tuck myself up on the top, you 
know.” 

“ You needn’t do that.” 

“ You don’t mind my being here, then?” 

“ No.” 

“ Nor my talking to you ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ But your mother would, though, wouldn’t she?” 

Poor Harriet turned white. 

« N — n — T don’t know,” she stammered. 

“ But you do, though. She hates us all like poison. 
She thinks we’re common. Do you ? ” 

Poor Harriet was very much confused by this 
direct question. 

“ Oh, Mr. St. Bhadegund, how absurd! ” 

“ No, it isn’t absurd to say she thinks as common, 


70 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY. 


because she does — you know she does. Xow the 
question is, do you think us common ? Because if 
you do, I’ll get down and go away,’<? he said, with 
decision. 

Harriet took fright at this. She hardly ever got a 
chance of speaking to any one except in her mother’s 
presence, when she was so strongly possessed by the 
fear of committing some gaucherie and being pub- 
licly reproved for it, as to be almost without the 
power of speech. So she took courage to say : 

“ Of course I don’t think so, 3Ir. St. Bhadegund.” 

“ You don’t think us common ? Well, neither do I. 
I think we’re uncommon, uncommonly fine fellows, 
taking us all in all. And how a pack of miserable 
women-folk like those about here can pretend to 
turn up their noses at us I can’t understand. Look 
at my brothers, Dick and Jim. Did you ever see 
handsomer fellows than they are — did you, I say ? ” 

“ N — no ; they are very good-looking, certamly.” 

“ And yet those two stuck-up Hoad-Blean girls — 
(Hoad-Blean ! did you ever hear such a name ? Not 
half so well-sounding as ours !) — those two idiotic 
girls give themselves airs of being too good for them ! 
Look here. Miss Jocelyn, I’m thoroughly disgusted 
with them; and if they haven’t the spirit, my silly 
brothers, not to leave off troubling their heads about 
the creatures any more, I shall just choke them off 
myself.” 

And Tom nodded with a frown of much meaning. 

“ Oh, Mr. St. Rhadegund, what will you do ? ” 

“ Never mind. My plans are not quite settled yet. 
Anyhow, I shouldn’t tell you what they were, be- 


THAT HORRID MR. ISAACSON. 71 

cause you’re friends with those girls and you’d put 
tliem on their guard. And I’m not Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund ; that’s my father. I’m only Tom ; so you can 
call me Tom.” 

■ “ I don’t like to.” 

“ I knew you’d say that. But you’ve got to. If 
you don’t call me Tom I won’t come and talk to you 
any more ; and I’m sure you must he glad to have 
me, not because my conversation is so particularly 
entertaining, but because you’ve got nobody else.” 

There was a long pause. Then blushing very 
much, and with a manifest effort, Harriet said: 

“Very well. I will call you Tom. Because ” (with 
a sigh), “ as you say. I’ve got nobody else to talk to.” 

“ Thank you,” said Tom. “ It’s not very flattering, 
but never mind. I’ve got to go in now ; I’m going 
for a ride with my brothers. Say ‘ Good-bye, Tom.’ ” 

“ Good-bye, T — Tom.” 

“ By the by, I don’t mind your telling your 
friends, the Hoad-Blean girls, that their disreputable 
brother is certainly going off his head. Good-bye.” 

Harriet did not tell her friends what Tom’s opin- 
ion was, but they would not have been surprised if 
she had done so. For Edward’s conduct was becom- 
ing a greater source of trouble to them every day. 

E'ot only did he break out from time to time into 
little eccentricities of speech and manner which 
warranted the supposition that his brain must be 
slightly affected, but from various quarters tidings 
came to their ears of the undesirable society in 
which he passed his time. For he went out early 
in the morning and returned late at night, flnding, 


72 


A TERHIBLE FAMILY. 


as he said, Salternes ‘‘ too beastly slow for him.” 
Then, from remaining away all day, he soon went 
on to remain away two and three days, until at last 
his mother was constrained to ask him why he did 
not go back to London, adding that she could let him 
have no more money and that he must apply to his 
father. 

Edward shrugged his shoulders. 

“To the governor? Yes, that would be useful, 
wouldn’t it? lie’s just as hard up as I am. Well, 
if you can’t let me have any more, I must get it 
somewhere else, that’s all.” 

“ Oh, Edward, you will not go to some money- 
lender’s in town, and raise money that way ? ” 

Edward laughed. 

“ I’ve raised all I can raise that way long ago,” 
said he cynically. “ As for going back to town, I 
can’t. I’ve got no money, and no credit, and every- 
thing I had has been seized there.” 

“Well, dear,” said his mother, trying to hide the 
tears which would rise to her eyes, “ let me write 
to your uncle, and try to make him get you some 
appointment. I’m sure he has influence enough.” 

“You can write if you like,” said Edward sulkily. 
“And now you can give me my fare to Margate, 
I suppose.” 

“ What do you do at Margate that you are always 
there, so that your sisters and I see nothing of 
you?” asked his mother, as she took out her purse 
and reluctantly gave him the small sum he asked for. 

“Yes, my sisters are very anxious for my society, 
aren’t they ? I go to Margate because I’ve picked 


THAT UOBBID MB. ISAACSON. 73 

up some friends there — friends who’ll do more for 
me than my own family, if I’m not mistaken.” 

In spite of his mother’s entreaties, Edward would 
'give no explanation of these enigmatic words, but 
took his leave abruptly and ran off to catch the 
train. 

He did not return for a week. When, at the end 
of that time, he did put in an appearance in the 
family circle, he was dressed in a brand-new yacht- 
ing suit, and had his j)ockets full of sovereigns 
which he ostentatiously used as counters when 
playing vingt-et-un wdth the twins. 

When his mother, in much anxiety, asked him 
where he had got the money from, and if it was the 
result of gambling, he replied briefly that it was “ no 
such luck,” that it had been lent him by a friend. 
And no further explanation would he deign to give 
her. 

The next morning Edward went away by train as 
usual, and this time he did not return for ten days. 
From some hints which he had let drop when he 
was last at home, as well as from the costume which 
he then wore, Mrs. IIoad-Blean knew that he had 
been yachting, and supposed that he had gone away 
on another cruise. 

It was about five o’clock on an evening early in 
June, and Jane was pouring out tea in the drawing- 
room, when Pamela, who was in the window-seat, 
and could see down the little street, rose and ran 
across the room to her mother, with consternation 
in her face. 

“Oh, mamma, mamma, it’s Edward; and who do 


74 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


you think he’s brought with him ? Why, that horrid 
man who tried so hard last winter to get introduced 
to Jane ! The man who comes to church to stare at 
her!” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean and her eldest daughter ex- 
changed glances of horror ; but Mrs. Blean, who 
knew more about the unwelcome visitor than her 
daughters did, uttered a little cry. For she knew 
that this rich Mr. Isaacson, who had a beautiful 
country-house, not many miles off, and who had 
such queer people down from London to stay with 
him as to create a scandal in the neighborhood, was 
a Jew money-lender with half a dozen offices and 
half a dozen aliases in town. Her husband had told 
her so ; and however deficient Captain IIoad-BleaiTs 
knowledge might be on other points, as far as money- 
lenders were concerned, his information might be 
looked upon as correct. The poor mother was dis- 
tracted. That the man had some hold upon Edward 
she was sure, and it must be a strong one for even 
such a scapegrace as her son to dare to bring to his 
mother’s roof so notorious a person. She had not 
made up her mind what to do or how to receive 
them, when Edward opened the front door, let him- 
self and his friend in, and put his head, with an air 
of the easiest nonchalance., into the drawing-room. 

“ Ah, there you are, mamma,” said he good-humor- 
edly, as he entered, dragging in his friend, a short, 
fair, rather good-looking gentleman, inclined to be 
stout, about forty -five years of age, and of a slightly 
Jewish cast of countenance. The cut of his clothes, 
the color of his necktie, were just a little bit too 


TUAT HORRID MR. ISAACSON. 


75 


loud to be in good taste, and he excited the horror 
of the girls by wearing a diamond horse-shoe scarf- 
pin, and a big diamond ring on his little finger. 

“ Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Isaacson,” said 
Edward. 

Mr. Isaacson, genial, self-satisfied, and smiling, 
made Mrs. Hoad-Blean a profound bow, and spoke 
with an air of great humility : 

“ I have reason to believe you have heard bad ac- 
counts of me, Mrs. Hoad-Blean,” he said, with a 
rather i)leasing frankness of manner. “ I hope you 
will find out that I’m less black than I’m painted.” 

“ I have no doubt of it,” said Mrs. Hoad-Blean 
coldly. 

Edward gave his mother a warning look, as tak- 
ing his friend’s arm, he introduced him to his sisters. 
Both the elder girls were as cold as ice, but the 
little fair man was not to be snubbed. He went on 
smiling as genially as ever, and had the audacity to 
say to Jane with an air of triumph, and a glance of, 
to her, the most offensive admiration : 

“ This is a pleasure I’ve waited a long time for, 
Miss Hoad-Blean, and that I was determined to have 
some day.” ' 

Jane turned her back upon him, and walked over 
to her mother’s side. 

But already the poor mother had had her warning. 

“ Don’t, don’t offend him, Jane, you must not,” 
she said in a low voice ; “ wait till I have heard every- 
thing.” 

When, after having forced her to invite the un- 
welcome guest to stay to dinner, Edward did tell 


76 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


his mother everything, or at least as much as he 
chose to own to, his mother found that his obli- 
gations to the Jew were so heavy, that to save her 
son she felt bound to be civil to his creditor : she 
entreated her daughters to follow her example. 

“ You know, my dears,” she said, “ it’s only for one 
evening ! ” 

“ But, Pamela,” whispered Jane to her sister, as 
they went downstairs together, “ whatever poor 
mamma thinks, it isn’t only for one evening.” 

Pamela looked shrewdly and despairingly at her 
sister. 

“You needn’t tell me that. That is not the sort 
of man to be content with the thin end of the wedge.” 

The events of the evening proved that they were 
right. It was impossible to “ sit upon ” ]\Ir. Isaacson ; 
his elastic spirits bounded up after every rebuff, 
and he seemed just as pleased by a cold or indifferent 
answer as he could have been with a friendly and 
sympathetic one. One after another, they all, except 
Jane, gradually felt their dislike of the man melting 
under the charm of his pleasant manner, and his 
determination to make himself agreeable. Jane, 
however, who felt his visit a personal offense, was 
obdurate: she refused either to be interested or 
amused by him, and maintained an icy frigidity in 
spite of all his efforts, and of her brother’s private 
menaces. 

“You can bully poor mamma, Edward,” she an- 
swered coolly, when he had followed her to the piano 
to administer a sharp remonstrance with her for her 
rudeness, “ but you cannot bully me.” 


THAT HORRID MR. ISAACSON, 


77 


“ You’re a fool,” he said, angrily. “ He has fifteen 
thousand a year, and he admires you immensely. 
If you played your cards well you could marry 
him.” • 

“ I should not choose a husband among your 
friends, Edward,” she answered, quietly. 

“ Rubbish! Girls without money don’t choose 
their husbands : they think themselves jolly lucky 
if they got chosen. You’ll never have such another 
chance, and you’re twenty-two, remember.” 

Jane cut the tete-d-tUe short by leaving the piano 
abruptly. The twins were playing “Tiddledy- 
winks,” so she stood behind to watch them. On the 
other side of her the genial Mr. Isaacson was talk- 
ing to Pamela, with whom he was getting on much 
better than with Jane, who could not help hearing 
what they were saying. 

“ Miss Pamela, believe me,” were the words she 
first heard, “ there is nothing nowadays which you 
cannot procure with money, if you set about it in 
the right way.” 

“ Oh, but that’s nonsense,” she answered, laugh- 
ing. “You cannot buy affection with money, for 
one thing.” 

“ Yes, you can. Easiest thing in the world. You 
can win the affection of any nice woman by kind- 
ness ; and kindness, to most of them, is buying them 
everything they want. Just as you can buy your 
way, indirectly, to a woman’s hand, you can buy 
your way, directly, to her heart. I’ve so much faith 
in my plan that I mean to put it in practice.” 

As he said this, there was something in his tone 


78 


A TElUllBLE FAMILY. 


which made Jane, against her will, glance at him. 
His eyes met hers, looking at her steadily, with an 
expression of quiet determination which filled her 
with dread. The blood seemed to rush to her head ; 
she held Myrtle’s shoulder tightly, feeling as if she 
should fall. 

“You look pale, Jane,” cried her mother from the 
other end of the room. And her voice seemed to 
Jane to come from a long way off. 

“ It’s nothing, mamma. My head aches a little, 
that is 

Her voice broke ; she felt that she was suffocating. 
Crossing the room quickly, she opened the door, 
shut it after her, and staggered along the passage 
that ran right through the house from the front to 
the back, out into the garden. 

It was a pretty garden, not very large, with little 
winding paths and wide flower borders, and a thick 
growth of shrubs and trees at the bottom. There a 
wooden paling only separated it from an orchard, 
at the bottom of which ran a wide stream hedged 
with pollard willows. They used to fish in that 
stream, and to take unwished-for baths in it, in the 
old days when they were little children at the 
Priory. Forcing herself through the shrubs, Jane 
laid her arms, regardless of her white dress, upon 
the paling, and looked out with a smarting pain at 
the long grass and the willows. 

“Money, money, money! — always that hateful 
money ! I wish I were dead ! ” She laid her head 
down on her arms. She could not relieve her feel- 
ings by a burst of tears as Pamela would have done ; 


TIIA T HORRID MR. IS A A CSON. 7 9 

her head ached and her eyes burned, but she could 
not shed a tear. 

As she stood like this, she heard a sound in the 
grass beneath her, and with a start saw something 
long and dark in the thick under-growth. At the 
same moment a face reared itself up close to hers — a 
face with a pair of glowing, passionate, kindly brown 
eyes. 

The long dark thing was not a boa-constrictor ; it 
was Jim St. Rhadegund. 

“ What has money done to you,” said he, “ to 
make you wish you were dead ? ” 


80 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTER yil. 

MK. ISAACSON TO THE RESCUE. 

On recognizing Jim St. Rhadegund’s face and voice, 
Jane started back from the fence, and would have 
run straight in-doors, but that her dress had got 
caught on a nail. As she stooped to set herself free, 
Jim sprang up from the grass. 

“ I hope I didn’t startle you. Miss Blean,” said he 
humbly. “ On the other hand, you certainly startled 
me. I had dropped my match-box in the long grass, 
and was kneeling to look for it, when suddenly I 
heard a voice above me calling out : ‘Money, money, 
money ! ’ You haven’t lost any, I hope ? ” 

“ Oh, no. I never have any to lose. I don’t know 
what I said, or why I said it.” 

Jane had got her dress off the nail, and was turning 
to go in-doors. 

“Wait one moment, please. Miss Blean. I want 
to tell you something ; it is about your sister and 
my brother Dick. I dare say you know he’s bought 
a mare that used to be hers, and she’s taken it into 
her head that he won’t treat her well. Well, it’s 
ridiculous ; I want you to know how ridiculous it is. 
Why, my brother Dick wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

“ Oh, how can you say so ? When he encouraged 
your brother to throw stones at our cat ! ” 


MB. ISAACSON TO THE BESCUE. 81 

“ Oh, well, cats are different. But he wouldn’t 
have done that if your sister hadn’t provoked him. 
I never knew such a provoking girl as your sister.” 

“But your brother ought not to let himself be 
provoked to he cruel, and Lady Constantia as well as 
my sister saw him whip poor Pearl unmercifully ! ” 

“Lady Constantia! That old woman’s a public 
nuisance, and the parish ought to subscribe to get 
her removed,’^ said Jim, who was getting angry. 
“ What business has she to interfere at all ? Why, 
you would never have come and interfered that day 
we thrashed the corn if it hadn’t been for her. And 
you’d never have been so rude to me when I wanted 
to bandage your wrist if it hadn’t been for her. 
She’s your evil genius.” 

“ She saw your brother ill-treating the mare, 
though, and my sister saw him too.” 

“ I tell you he didn’t ill-treatthemare, he only pre- 
tended to. He’s ten times fonder of horses than any 
woman could be,” said Jim angrily. Jane made no 
answer, but sweeping superbly round, made a way 
for herself with her white hands between the thick- 
growing yew trees. 

Jim changed his tone directly. 

“Wait, oh, wait one minute,” he cried, entreat- 
ingly. 

But she took no notice of the appeal until she was 
suddenly startled to hear a crash among the under- 
growth behind her, and to feel her wrist seized in a 
grip there was no wrestling with. 

“You sArt/^wait! I won’t be put off with your 
fine-lady airs. No, you will not get away till you’ve 
6 


82 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


heard me out, and if you scream you’ll make your- 
self ridiculous. I’m not going to hurt you, but I 
won’t he treated like this just by a girl. Now lis- 
ten ! I was sorry for you when I heard you speak 
just now in that heart-broken tone, and I wanted 
to comfort you, or I shouldn’t have spoken at all, 
but should just have kept quiet in the grass till 
you’d gone away. But no, you wouldn’t let me. 
You tried to snub me again, as usual. And then, just 
because I tried to make things right about Dick, 
you turn nasty, and of course make me lose my 
temper. Now why won’t you behave like a reason- 
able woman ? ” 

Jane was quite shaken out of her usual stately 
composure by this impetuous attack. The warm 
hands which held hers, emphasizing each point in 
their owner’s vehement speech by a momentary 
tightening of their grasp; the passionate, flushed 
face of the young man as he looked into her face, 
and insisted on her eyes meeting his own, were ex- 
'periences new and startling enough to upset her 
balance altogether. She began to speak, but her 
tongue faltered, her lips trembled, and a piteous 
look of helplessness came into her face. 

Dick’s manner changed in a moment. 

“ Oh, don’t be unhappy, don’t say I’m making you 
unhappy. I want to do you some good, and you 
won’t let me,” he said, in a low, tender voice. 
“ What is this about money that troubles you so ? 
You said you wished you were dead. Well, if it’s 
only for want of money, let me lend you some. Do ; 
do let me, I know it’s considered an awful thing 


MB. ISAACSON TO THE RESCUE. 


83 


over here, but it’s absurd, isn’t it ? And it’s more 
absurd still to go on wishing you were dead when 
you can have what you want and give pleasure to 
somebody else by having it.” 

It may be imagined what effect this shockingly 
unconventional offer had upon poor Jane. In horror 
most unfeigned she tried to get away from him, 
assuring him that she gave him credit for his kind 
intentions, but that his offer was unheard of. 

“You don’t understand,” she said, with a touch 
of the haughtiness which annoyed him — “ you don’t 
understand what you’re suggesting. I do know how 
kindly you make the suggestion, but I assure you 
that it is the most absurd idea that could come into 
any one’s head. Please, please let me go.” 

Unconsciously the voices of the young people had 
risen considerably during the last few minutes, and 
had reached the ears of some of the occupants of the 
drawing-room. While, therefore, Jim, still holding 
her hands, was begging her to think better of her 
decision, and while she was again commanding him 
to let her go, there came suddenly upon them round 
a clump of evergreens the portly figure of Mr. Isaac- 
son. Delighted at this opportunity of rescuing a 
damsel in distress, and the very damsel of all others 
for whom he would have chosen to perform that 
service, he sprang forward, and striking the young 
man a violent blow on the shoulder, commanded 
him to let the lady go. 

“ How dare you detain the lady against her will, 
you young ruffian ? ” he cried, with much ferocity. 
“ You’ve had your answer : the lady won’t have any- 


84 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


thing to do with you. Do you think you can get an 
English lady for a wife by force of arms, as you 
would a squaw in the bush ?” 

The moment he received Mr. Isaacson’s blow, 
Jim dropped the hands of the lady, who fled to the 
house without a moment’s delay. lie turned sharply 
round in fighting attitude, but on perceiving the 
person of his assailant, he let his fists fall con- 
temptuously, saying : 

“ I sha’n’t fight you. You’re too old and too fat.” 

“ I’m very glad to hear it,” returned Mr. Isaacson, 
whose valor had cooled now that the lady was no 
longer there to witness his prowess. “ And I shall 
be very glad to hear also that you intend to leave 
the lady unmolested for the future.” 

Jim was silent for a few moments, during which 
he was evidently agitated by some strong feeling. 
Then he said, in an altered voice : 

“ Are you engaged to her ? ” 

“l am going to marry her,” answered Isaacson 
coolly. 

Jim, who had not expected this answer, stood very 
still for a few seconds, and looked inquiringly at 
Edward, who had now come up, and who was hold- 
ing a lamp in his hand. 

“ Is it — true — what this man says ? ” Jim asked 
him. 

“ Of course it’s true. Do you suspect my friends 
of telling lies ? ” said Edward. 

Jim turned to Isaacson : 

“ I apologize, then, sir,” he said iii a husky voice. 
“ I did not know. But I was not proposing to Miss 


ME. ISAACSON TO THE RESCUE. 


85 


Blean; she hadn’t given me any encouragement. 
She seemed unhappy : I wanted to know — if m any 
way — I could help her. I hope you will succeed, 
sir, in making her happier than you seem to have 
done at present.” He turned abruptly, vaulted 
over the wooden paling, and disappeared in the 
orchard. Mr. Isaacson, jubilant at having got a 
possibly dangerous rival out of the way, chuckled 
to himself as he put his arm through Edward’s, 
and returned with that young gentleman to the 
house. 

Jane had offered only the briefest of explana- 
tions to her mother and sisters, who had heard 
the talking going on in the garden, but had not 
been able to distinguish the voices. Edward, how- 
ever, seeing that Jane was the only absentee, had 
guessed that she was one of the speakers, and 
had had the happy thought of taking Isaacson into 
the garden in search of her. 

Jane only told her mother that she had been 
talking to Jim St. Rhadegund over the fence ; and 
that when Edward and his friend went out, she had 
come in. 

She had scarcely finished this account, when the 
two gentlemen returned to the drawing-room. Dur- 
ing the whole of the evening, the strength of Mr. 
Isaacson’s influence over Edward had been apparent 
to the ladies ; but they were rather surprised when 
he presently began to use it to the young ladies’ ad- 
vantage, by reproaching him for neglecting his home, 
and not taking his sisters about, as he ought to do. 

“Why,” said he, “if I had such a bevy of charm- 


8G 


A TEEEIBLE FAMILY. 


ing sisters, I should be only too proud to be seen 
with them on every possible occasion.” 

“ Indeed, Mr. Isaacson,” put in Mrs. Hoad-Blean, 
glad of the opportunity of administering a reproof 
to Edward’s friend, while excusing her son, “he 
spends too much time with you to have any to spare 
with his sisters or with me.” 

“You shall not have to reproach me like that 
again. Now, Edward, instead of coming back with 
me to-night as you proposed, you shall take your 
sisters to Birchington to-morrow. There’s a lawn- 
tennis tournament to be held there, which would in- 
terest the young ladies, I am sure.” Perceiving a 
refusal in Mrs. Hoad-Blean’s eye and in her com- 
pressed lips, he hastened to add : “ I’m sorry that I 
shall not be able to be there myself, to have the 
honor of joining your party.” 

Still Mrs. Hoad-Blean, who could not have under- 
taken the fatiguing day herself, and did not trust 
much in Edward’s protectorship, would have vetoed 
the proposal, but the girls themselves, with the ex- 
ception of Jane, caught eagerly at the suggestion of 
such a break in their monotonous lives. So that it 
was decided to make the expedition on the follow- 
ing day. Having thus succeeded in establishing 
himself somewhat in the favor of three of the ladies, 
Mr. Isaacson then took his leave, having put up his 
“ trap ” at the “ Three Tuns.” And, much against 
the wish of Edward, who would have liked to 
accompany him on his drive back home, Mr. Isaac- 
son left the house alone. 

That night Mrs. Hoad-Blean insisted, much against 


MR. ISAACSON TO THE RESCUE. 87 

his will, on interviewing her son, and interrogating 
him on the subject of his obligations to Mr. Isaac- 
son. 

“ I must know, Edward, what you owe this man.” 

Her son turned upon her irritably. 

“ Nothing — I owe him nothing ; he’ll never ask me 
for a pennj^ if Jane will marry him. You know he’s 
in love with her ; his admiration has been the talk 
of the neighborhood ever so long, and with your 
ridiculous, old-fashioned notions you left it to me to 
insist upon introducing him to her. How can you 
expect to settle the girls if you don’t make use of 
their chances ? ” 

“Edward, remember you are speaking to your 
mother. Surely you know the reputation of this 
man ! A money-lender too ! And the persecution 
he has subjected Jane to, coming to church and sit- 
ting in a seat from which he could stare at her, and 
making his admiration, as you yourself say, the talk 
of the neighborhood ! ” 

“ Where’s the harm of that, since he means to 
marry her ? ” 

“ I would not give my daughter to such a man ! ” 

“ Oh, nonsense. You can’t have everything, and 
Isaacson’s a very good fellow. And he’ll steady 
down all right when he’s married. Do you want all 
the girls to be old maids on your hands, that you 
deliberately throw away every chance that comes in 
their way ? ” 

“ Edward, pray remember to whom you’re speak- 
ing. Jane detests this man.” 

“Very well. Then I shall have to leave the 


88 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


country. For I can never pay him hack what I owe 
him. Good-night.” 

And not another word could his mother draw 
from him that night. 

The next day, much against her wish, the four 
girls all started off with their brother for Birching- 
ton. They met a few friends at the tennis tourna- 
ment, prosy old gentlemen, and delightful but deaf 
old ladies for the most part ; so that the girls were 
beginning to feel rather bored with the entertain- 
ment when a dashing hooded phaeton drove up to 
the grounds, and Mr. Isaacson, very carefully got 
up, and pleased with the sensation made by his 
splendid chestnuts, threw the reins to his groom 
and sprang down eagerly to greet them. It was 
impossible not to feel more pleasure than annoy- 
ance at his appearance. Only Jane was really sorry 
to see him, although the three others, exchanging 
whispered comments as he drove up, affected to 
hope that he would not notice them. 

“ This is a pleasure ! ” cried he, in his genial voice, as 
he shook hands first with Pamela ; “ it was in the hope 
of seeing you that I managed after all to come 
over, but I was afraid that the doubtful look of the 
morning would have kept you from coming. Hoav 
do you do. Miss Blean ? ” he continued, as he held 
out his hand to Jane. 

But Jane, who had entrenched herself behind the 
twins, only bowed without giving him her hand, 
and answered so coldly that the poor little twins, 
who had quite gone over to the enemy, were really 
angry with her. As usual Mr. Isaacson appeared 


MR. ISAACSOJ^ TO THE RESCUE. 89 

not to know that he was snubbed, and went on to 
ask them if they didn’t find it “ rather slow.” 

“ It isn’t very amusing,” said Myrtle. ‘‘ It’s 
always the same thing.” 

“ But they’ve invited us,” said Olive, “ to have tea 
in the tent.” 

“ Oh, you’re not so misguided as to look forward 
to that, are you ? Why, do you know what you’ll 
get, that is, if you’re lucky ? A cup of cold tea and 
an earwig. And if you’re not lucky, you’ll get the 
earwig Avithout the cup of cold tea. No, you come 
with me, and I’ll take you to a place where they’ll 
treat you much better.” 

The misguided twins were ready to he off at once; 
but the tAVO elder girls hung back. They did not 
want to be indebted for their entertainment to their 
irrepressible neAV acquaintance. Of course, hoAV- 
ever, the two young girls Avere outAvitted by the 
experienced man of the Avorld, Avho, taking Olive on 
one arm and Myrtle on the other, went off the ground 
Avith them at a rapid pace before any one could inter- 
fere, thus compelling the elder girls reluctantly to 
folio Av Avith EdAvard. 

“ Where is he going to take us to ? ” asked Jane 
suddenly, Avhen, after having walked for some min- 
utes in the direction of the seashore, they saAV Mr. 
Isaacson stopping before a pretty bungalow facing 
the sea, the veranda of which was a bower of 
flowers. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Edward sulkily. 
“ Come along.” 

There was no help for it. Those miserable twins 


00 


A TEIIRIBLE FAMILY, 


had already disappeared on the other side of the 
veranda. 

“ Who lives in this house ? ” asked Jane sharply, 
when they had arrived at the front door, which was 
open, displaying a hall prettily furnished with ori- 
ental hangings and cosy lounging chairs. But 
Edward, escaping from his sisters, had followed the 
first comers round the veranda. Pamela and Jane 
looked at each other. 

“We must go too — now,” said Pamela, “if it’s 
only to fetch away Olive and Myrtle. But don’t 
make a fuss, Jane, if you can help it. We’ve made 
a mistake, hut it won’t do to be rude. We must 
make the best of it.” For the truth that they had 
been led into an ambush, had forced itself upon her 
mind. 

Poor Jane felt ready to cry with mortification. 
She let Pamela precede her as they made their way 
round the opposite side of the house. Here they 
came upon a scene which, in happier circum- 
stances, would have called forth their unbounded 
admiration. The broad veranda was a raised bank 
of fiowers, in the midst of which were two little 
tables covered with dainty white cloths and dishes 
of scarlet strawberries. Half a dozen comfortable 
low chairs, two of which Avere already occupied by 
the excited and happy twins, were half lost among 
palms, hydrangeas, ferns, and tall white lilies ; while 
baskets full of ivy geraniums and yellow margue- 
rites hung between the pillars of the roof. 

“Here is a seat for you. Miss Hoad-Blean, the 
post of honor,” said Mr. Isaacson, as, with the un- 


MU. ISAACSOK TO THE UESCUE. 


91 


mistakable manner of a host, he invited Jane to 
take her seat in an arm-chair covered with delicate 
brocade. The girl sat down with a slight bend of 
the head, but without a word. Her silence, how- 
ever, might well have passed unnoticed in the bab- 
ble made by the twins, in which Pamela presently 
joined. As soon as they were all seated, Mr. Isaac- 
son touched a little silver gong on one of the tables, 
and two smart maids came out of the bungalow, 
bearing trays laden with bread and butter, sand- 
wiches, dainty teacups, and a glistening silver tea- 
set. 

“Miss Hoad-Blean,” said the host, turning to 
Jane, “ may we trouble you to pour out tea ? ” 

She tried to say “ With pleasure,” but the words, 
though she formed them with her lips, made no 
sound. She was growing so much afraid of this 
man that the sound of his voice, when he addressed 
her, made her turn cold. He had no mercy. 

“ It is presuming upon your good-nature, I know,” 
said he suavely. “But I’m one of those uncon- 
scionable people who are never satisfied. As soon 
as I have obtained one favor, I make it the step- 
ping-stone to another. Give me an inch and I take 
an ell.” 

A burst of delighted laughter from Olive and 
Myrtle saved Jane the necessity of replying. She 
poured out the tea, but she tasted none herself ; she 
allowed Mr. Isaacson to help her to strawberries, but 
she did not touch them. Presently perceiving this, 
her host, with the first touch of annoyance he had 
allowed himself to show, expressed a hope that she 


92 


A TERniBLE FAMILY. 


had no fault to find with the tea and that she did 
not dislike strawberries. 

“ They are very nice, thank you,” said she, raising 
her eyes coldly for a moment to his complacent 
face ; “ but I am neither hungry nor thirsty.” 

It was the one small revenge she could take, not 
to eat or to drink anything of Mr. Isaacson’s pro- 
viding. To his intense chagrin, when tea was over, 
she rose from her seat fasting. 


A UESOLUTE WOOEH. 


93 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A RESOLUTE WOOER. 

Pamela, who knew her eldest sister’s face well 
enough to see that she was in great trouble, 
found an opportunity, when the twins were en- 
grossing the attention of the two gentlemen, to 
exchange a few words apart with her. 

“He admires you very much, dear. Are you 
quite sure you couldn’t like him?” 

Indeed Mr. Isaacson’s admiration was evident 
enough. When speaking to Jane his whole manner 
underwent a change, not superficial merely, not 
assumed, for he grew red when he addressed her, 
and a tremor came into his voice. On the other 
hand, when he was talking to any one else, his eyes 
were still fixed on Jane. 

Pamela had never heard the gentle-mannered 
Jane put so much emphasis into any speech as she 
did into her answer : 

“ I hate him. I can’t bear to look at him, or to 
hear him speak.” 

“ Really and truly ? ” 

Most really and most truly.” 

Pamela looked half incredulous. If she had been 
Jane, she would have shown far more spirit : she 


94 


A TERRIBLE FAIIILY. 


would have been audacious, rude ; she would have 
shown Mr. Isaacson very plainly that she would 
jump into the sea rather than have anything to do 
with him. But Jane was different. Of a calmer 
and more thoughtful temper than her sister, she saw 
more clearly all the different sides of the question, 
and moreover, she had only the courage that suffers 
without complaint, and shrank from such bold steps 
as her more daring sister would have proposed. All 
the family troubles, the want of money, Edward, 
the tacit hostility with the Priory, and Lady Con- 
stantia’s coolness towards them — all seemed to jostle | 
each other in her mind, and point out to her that ; 
marriage with this detestable, fair, fat-faced Jew was I 
the only remedy for all of them. Mr. Isaacson was 
rich, he was the only person who had any control ■ 
over Edward — a man who would not be dictated to. | 
But every reason which made the encouragement of I 
his admiration seem desirable only increased her ; 
aversion for him. His voice, breakiug suddenly 
upon these thoughts, made her start. 

“Won’t you do me the honor to. come inside and 
see over the little place, Miss Blean? Your younger 
sisters, who are much kinder to me than you are, ' 
are alread}^ inside.” 

Jane moved forward with as much animation as j 
a statue, and let herself be shown over the bungalow j 
with the rest of the party. I 

The twins were in ecstasies with all they saw. 
Indeed, the place was furnished with taste as well 
as with luxury; just a little too extravagantly, 
perhaps, for a mere summer-house, as the owner 


A RESOLUTE WOOER. 95 

called the place, but with a prettiness with which a 
young girl’s taste could find no fault. 

“ Oh, how happy one could he here ! ” cried Olive, 
accepting an invitation to try a particularly inviting 
chair, and looking up at the painted ceiling, at the 
figured silk curtains, and the silver lamps which 
hung on brackets from the walls. 

“ I wish you could make your eldest sister feel 
the same ! ” said Mr. Isaacson, in a low tone of voice, 
which, however, Jane’s ears caught as they were 
intended to do. 

Olive sat up and stared at him with round eyes 
of wonder. 

“ Why,” said she, “ do you want to marry Jane ?” 

For this is the last folly of which a younger 
brother or sister suspects any man. 

“It is the dearest wish of my life,” he replied, 
with as much dramatic effect as he could manage. 

“ And won’t she ? ” Olive went on more incred- 
ulously still. And receiving her reply in her sister’s 
troubled looks, she added ingenuously : “ Oh, what 
a goose she is ! ” 

“ Look, look, Olive ! ” cried Myrtle from the win- 
dow, “ there’s such a lovely little steam-yacht out 
there. I should like to be on her ! ” 

“ Would you? Well, your wish can be very easily 
satisfied,” said Mr. Isaacson, “ for I ordered her to 
be brought round here in case any of you young 
ladies would like to try a little cruise.” 

Pamela looked at Jane with meaning. The am- 
bush which had been laid for them was now con- 
fe!^sed. Even she, who had none of the bitterness 


96 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


against their host felt by Jane, saw the propriety of 
refusing to take advantage of this new offer. But 
the twins were irrepressible. They were rather 
spoilt, these two sweet-faeed little creatures, and the 
force of their united will was irresistible. Mr. 
Isaacson, thanking his stars that he had secured 
such allies, now suggested that the yacht should 
take them as far as it could on their way home. 
Landing at Deal, they could reach home thence by 
train. It was all settled in a few minutes. Mr. 
Isaacson got out his map and his time-table, and 
calculated distances; and the twins, intoxicated 
with delight, were looking forward to a perfect end 
to a perfect day, when Jane, with the same perversity 
that Olive had already remarked in her, tried to 
spoil all their pretty, plans by declining to go on 
the yacht at all. Very quietly, but very firmly, she 
declared that she should be sea-sick, and declined to 
venture. Mr. Isaacson was equal to the occasion. 

“ Don’t let us deprive the little girls of their 
pleasure,” said he indulgently. “ If Miss Pamela is 
not afraid of the sea, I shall be delighted to take 
them on the yacht ; and we will make this chival- 
rous brother of ours take you back. Miss Blean.” 

Jane looked relieved, yet she was not without 
a lingering suspicion of his good faith. Edward 
grumbled loudly, and suggested that she could go 
back by herself. But his host would not hear of 
this. 

“ There is my phaeton at your disposal,” he said. 
“ I will send round to the place where it is put up, 
and it will be here in a few minutes. You will have 


A RESOLUTE WOOER. 


97 


a very pleasant drive back in the cool of the even- 
ing. Tlie groom knows the way, I think. At any 
rate, on these country roads, the directions are pretty 
simple to get from one place to another.” 

Edward was immediately reconciled to the idea 
of escorting his sister home ; but she herself, having 
noticed that the chestnuts were spirited animals, 
and having a very mean opinion of her brother’s 
capacities in any direction, protested that she would 
rather go back by train. She was very anxious to 
put herself under no further obligation to Mr. Isaac- 
son, and the thought of taking such a long drive in 
a vehicle which everybody knew to be his, was dis- 
tasteful in the extreme to her. Edward, of course, 
paid no more heed to her objections than did Mr. 
Isaacson himself. He had never before been trusted 
to drive the chestnuts, much as he had longed to do 
so ; and he could scarcely believe his ears when his 
friend proposed this arrangement. Pamela, who was 
as much delighted with the prospect of the sea trip 
as her younger sisters, was inclined to make light 
of poor Jane’s distress. 

“ You may be sure Mr. Isaacson would never trust 
him to drive those lovely horses if he thought he 
couldn’t do it,” said she. “ And after all, Jane, isn’t 
it just what you wanted, to go back without him ? ” 

But Jane was not to be comforted. By the time 
the phaeton came round, Pamela and the girls had 
already started for the shore, where a boat was 
waiting to convey them to the yacht. Mr. Isaacson 
lingered with Edward at the door, and helped Jane* 
up into the seat beside the driver’s. Edward, Jane 


98 


A TEUniBLE FAMILY. 


noticed, looked unaccountably surly and annoyed. 
The reason was soon apparent. Scarcely had J ane 
taken her seat, when Mr. Isaacson, with a rapidity 
and neatness which betrayed the fact that his action 
was premeditated, sprang up into the seat beside 
her. The groom left the horses’ heads and got up 
into his place behind as quickly as if he had been 
moved by a spring, while at the same moment 
Edward stepped down, and the horses started. 

It was all so sudden, everything had been so 
adroitly managed, that Jane, who had none of 
Pamela’s alert nimbleness both of mind and body, 
was stupefied, and for a few moments incapable of 
uttering more than a protesting “ Oh ! ” When she 
had collected her wits, the phaeton was already 
going along at a good rate of speed, and Pamela 
and the twins had reached the boat without so 
much as a look behind. 

Jane felt utterly helpless, lonely, miserable, and, 

‘ above all, afraid. Instead of being touched by the 
persistency of his suit, she was shocked and alarmed 
by it. The Jew’s pushing audacity filled her with 
repugnance; his bold-eyed admiration made her 
blush. A man less shrewd than Mr. Isaacson might 
have thought, as he looked at the pale, shrinking 
girl, who sat so silently and so timidly with averted 
head, without uttering a single protest, that she 
would be too ridiculously easy a conquest. The 
clever Jew knew better. He was seriously in love 
with the tall, dignified, stately young woman ; his 
admiration dated from the very first moment when, 
seeing her at some small local function, and notic- 


A BESOLUTE WOOER. 


99 


ing the grace with which she returned the greetings 
of her friends, he had at once decided that she was 
the ideal wife for him. This was really very flatter- 
ing to Jane, since the Jew was not what was known 
as a marrying man. It is true that the fact that 
her acquaintances were all members of the county 
families, men and women whom Isaacson had had 
pointed out to him, but with whom he had hitherto 
found it impossible to get on terms of acquaintance, 
had something to do with the rapidity with which 
he made up his mind ; but the grace of her person 
and of her manners had still more. Money, what 
money can bring, and a fair amount of good looks, 
he considered that he possessed already ; if he could 
get a wife who possessed dignity and the friend- 
ship of “ the 'best people,” Isaacson thought he 
should soon be as near to perfect happiness as he 
could hope to be. With the tenacity of his race he 
had therefore sought, for a long time unavailingly, 
to make her acquaintance ; now that this prelim- 
inary object was obtained, he was not likely to let 
the grass grow under his feet. 

That there were still a great many steps between 
him and success he never doubted for a moment. 
But her coldness and reserve did not daunt him. 
He waited for a protest, but none came. He had to 
start the battle himself. 

“ I hope you will forgive me. Miss Blean, for in- 
flicting my society upon you when you expected the 
pleasure of your brother’s, At the last moment, 
howeyer, I took fright nt the thought that he was 
perhaps not quite m experience4 enough driyer tQ 


100 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


be trusted with so precious a charge. So, much 
against his will, and I am afraid much to your an- 
noyance, I changed places with him, and sent him 
on the yacht, while I did myself the honor of escort- 
ing you.” 

Jane felt a mild impulse of rage. 

“ It was very good of you, Mr. Isaacson,” she said, 
haughtily. “ But if I had known your intention, I 
should have come back by myself by train.” 

Now her haughtiness was just the quality that 
Mr. Isaacson adored her for. He couldn’t be haughty 
himself : he could be loud, blustering, swaggering, 
dictatorial, insolent ; but it was not at all the same 
thing. He thought, therefore, that haughtiness was 
a born privilege of the upper classes, and the com- 
bination of the quality with a tall figure and a stately 
carriage was irresistible to him. Therefore he Avas 
fired into fresh admiration by her ansAver. 

“ That’s very rough on me — confoundedly rough,” 
said he, not in a despairing tone, but Avith some 
complacency. 

To this pushing gentleman, tlie greater the lady’s 
repugnance to him Avas, the more it proved his oAvn 
cleverness in having obtained this tete-a-tete Avith her. 

“You’ve never given me so much as a kind Avord 
yet,” he Avent on, in an aggrieved tone, “ and yet the 
silent but constant devotion of seven months might 
count for something, one Avould think.” 

“Not when it is manifested in such extremely 
offensive ways,” returned Jane, with rising spirit. 

But the haughtier she became, the more desper- 
ately humble grew her distasteful admirer. 


A RESOLUTE WOOER. 


101 


“ You mean that I looked 9^ you in church ?” said 
he deprecatingly. 

“ I mean that I had to change my seat more than 
once on account of the conspicuous manner in which 
you stared at me,” said Jane, flushing deeply. “ It 
was a dreadful thing fora girl to have to do, or even 
to have to speak about. The mere fact that you can- 
not understand this shows how impossible it is that 
I should ever even tolerate you.” 

But Mr. Isaacson was undisturbed even by this 
outburst. 

“ Oh, no ; not impossible,” said he good-humoredly. 
“ I don’t say that you can even tolerate me all at once. 
But a man Avho could wait seven months just for a 
bare introduction, just for the right to raise his hat 
to you, and to be unmercifully snubbed by you, 
has some patience left in him still, you may be 
sure.” 

“You had better use it on some more promising 
object, Mr. Isaacson,” said Jane, with her head in 
the air. 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when 
her attention was distracted from her companion by 
the sight of two horsemen, still in the distance, who 
were riding towards them along the hedgeless Kent- 
ish road. Without being able to tell why, Jane, 
AVho immediately recognized the riders as two of the 
St. Rhadegund boys, was thrown into a panic of 
alarm and acute distress. It was more than the 
mere dislike of being seen by any one in her com- 
panion’s society, it was a dislike of being so seen by 
those particular persons. As the young men came 


102 


A TEllElBLE FAMILY. 


nearer, and proved to be Jim St. Rliadegund and 
his brother Tom, the keen-eyed Jew noticed that it 
was Jim’s face that flushed at the sight of the lady, 
and that Jane, meeting the young man’s eyes only 
for a moment, grew paler than before. He remem- 
bered on the instant that he had seen the young 
man before ; and a suspicion flashed into his mind 
that Jane’s treatment of the young fellow on the 
preceding evening did not exactly correspond with 
her real sentiments towards him. 

The greeting was on both sides a very cold one : 
Jane gave the stiffest of bows, Jim raised his 
hat very coldly, while Tom contented himself with 
raising his whip to his with a scowl. 

“Who are those fellows ?” asked Mr. Isaacson, with 
something in his tone which gave Jane the first in- 
timation she had received of that side of the Jew’s 
character, which he kept chiefly for his business 
dealings. 

“ They are acquaintances of ours,” she answered, 
coldly. 

“ Ah ! ” said he, rather snappishly, “ I thought they 
couldn’t be more than that. Don’t belong to one of 
the best families, I suppose ? ” 

Jane, without knowing why, was nettled. 

“ They belong to as good a family as I know, or 
wish to know,” sho answered, quickly. 

“ Oh, indeed. From the young man’s ungentle- 
manly conduct to you last night, I supposed that he 
was some very common person whom you were 
trying to get rid of.” 

“I should not^have been so silly,” said Jane, with 


.1 llESOLUVE WOOER. 


103 


a little flush in her cheeks, “ for it is impossible to 
get rid of common people.” 

This was a blow full in the face, and so neatly 
administered that even complacent Mr. Isaacson could 
not pretend to misunderstand. He affected to laugh, 
but he was so ill-pleased that he whipped up the 
horses smartly, and taking a shorter route than he 
had intended, drew up at the little house in Salternes 
much earlier than even Jane had dared to hope. She 
%vas elated by the success of her daring speech, and 
delighted to feel that the ordeal of the drive was 
over. So that she looked animated and particularly 
handsome as she stood up and prepared to descend. 
Mr. Isaacson, who had by this time recovered from 
her rebuff, was on his side again a little triumphant 
in the knowledge tliat, with her will or against it, 
she had been seen that afternoon in his society, 
which was in itself an object gained. 

“ I hope. Miss Blean, that this is only the first of 
many occasions on which I shall have the honor of 
driving you,” said he, with a tone and manner in 
which humble entreaty was mingled with hope. 

“ And I,” rejoined Jane, with some Are in her gray 
eyes, “ sincerely trust that it is the last occasion on 
which I shall have the annoyance of so much as 
seeing you.” 

She turned with the intention of sweeping majes- 
tically into the house. But there on the door-step 
waiting for her was her mother. And to Jane’s sur- 
prise and disgust, Mrs. Hoad-Blean looked displeased 
at her daughter’s words, which she was near enough 
to overhear. Jane hurried past her mother into 


104 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY. 


the house ; through the open window she had the 
mortification of hearing Mrs. Hoad-Blean exchanging 
civilities, in an entirely conciliatory tone of voice, 
with her unwelcome admirer. 

“ Mamma, how could you? How could you he civil 
to that odious man ? He tricked me into driving 
hack with him — tricked me in the most shameful 
manner. Wait till Pamela comes hack, and you 
shall hear.” 

But Mrs. IIoad-Blean sighed wearily and spoke 
petulantly. Besides her anxiety on Edward’s be- 
half, this poor lady, who had felt the pinch of poverty 
so keenly herself, could not stifle an involuntary 
wish that Jane would regard this rich suitor with 
more favor. What if he were a money-lender? 
She was old enough to believe that there might be 
good money-lenders as well as bad ones. And 
what if he were not, in age, appearance, and, above 
all, “ tone,” the ideal of a young girl’s heart ? Cap- 
tain Hoad-Blean had been all that, and he had made 
a very bad husband : this far less promising individ- 
ual might make a very good one. So reasoned the 
poor harassed mother, who, though she would never 
have attempted to coerce her daughter, would have 
been, oh ! so glad if Jane could have taken a fancy to 
this rich man. So she answered with a good deal of 
bitterness : 

“ Oh, I don’t want Pamela to tell me that Mr. 
Isaacson did his best to get a hearing from you, and 
that you were very rude to him ! ” 

Jane turned round, quite white, and looked at 
her mother. But Mrs. Hoad-Blean pressed her lips 


A RESOLUTE WOOER. 


105 


tightly together and would not meet her daughter’s 
eye. 

Then haughty, dignified Jane broke down, not 
into loud sobbing, but into a torrent of silent tears. 
Edward, the twins, Pamela, and now her own mother, 
were all against her. And Jim, that insolent Jim 
St. Rhadegund had given her a look which she could 
not forget. Jane started up. There was one hope 
left to her, one only. 

“ I will go up to papa — I will go up to papa ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean answered only by a short laugh, 
which strengthened Jane in her resolution. She and 
papa, she thought to herself, were the two members 
of the family who were misunderstood. 

He would take the part of his daughter’s heart, she 
felt sure, against all the world. 


106 


A TEBIUBLM FA^ilLY, 


CHAPTER IX. i 

A broken' reed. 

Jane was full of impatience for the return of the 
yachting party. She felt sure that when her own 
account of Mr. Isaacson’s conduct was confirmed by 
Pamela’s, her mother would agree with her in think- | 
ing that she had been shamefully treated. She 
examined the time-table, and finding that the last 
train from Deal reached Salternes at a quarter to 
seven, knew that they could not possibly catch it, 
and that she must resign herself to waiting while 
they came by road. 

It was not until past nine that the sound of 
horses’ hoofs and merry girls’ voices outside an- ! 
nounced the home-coming of the party. All three 
girls burst into the drawing-room radiant, breath- 
less, each striving to get out her own version of the 
story of their delightful day before the others. Mrs. i 
IIoad-Blean was nearly torn to pieces. Myrtle 
seized her on one side, Pamela on the other, while 
Olive put her chin on her mother’s shoulder from 
behind. But Mrs. IIoad-Blean was thinking, as she 
put her hand into her pocket, of the terribly heavy 
fare she would have to pay for this nine miles’ 
journey. 


A BROKEN REED. 107 

“How much is it?” she asked, anxiously, as 
Edward sauntered into the room. 

But at that moment the fly was heard driving away. 

“ I’ve paid it, mamma,” said he. 

And having recovered his spirits a little since his 
disappointment about the drive in Mr. Isaacson’s 
phaeton, he threw himself on to the sofa and list- 
ened with some complacency to liis sisters’ account 
of the magniflcence of his friend. 

“ Oh, mamma, such a yacht ! It was like a little 
palace ! ” cried Olive. 

“ And all the brass shone like gold, mamma, and the 
deck glistened — it was so bright ! ” cried Myrtle. 

“ And she seemed to cut through the water like a 
fish,” added Pamela. “ I never enjoyed myself so 
much in my life. Oh, Jane, why didn’t you come 
too?" 

Jane was dumb. It became every moment clearer 
that she would find no support here. 

“ And the little cabin on deck was so beautifully 
fitted ” 

“And we had ices, and beautiful lemonade, be- 
cause Pamela would not let us have any wine.” 

“ Oh, Jane,” wound up Myrtle, in an outburst of 
irrepressible, passionate enthusiasm, “I hope you 
were kinder to Mr. Isaacson on the way back ! It’s 
all because of you that he’s so kind, Pamela says. 
You will marry him, won’t you ? ” 

“ And then we shall be able to go on the yacht 
whenever we like ! ” 

“ Really, Jane, if you had been with us began 

Pamela. 


108 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


But she stopped. For the misery depicted on 
Jane’s white face suddenly made her sensible of her 
indiscretion. 

Edward, too, noted the expression of his elder 
sister’s face, and he spoiled the general harmony by 
saying in a snarling tone : 

“ I should advise her not to be too jolly cock-sure 
that Isaacson wants to have anything to do with her. 
Do you really think, you pack of silly girls, that a 
man with fifteen thousand a year can’t have his 
choice of all the best-looking girls in the county, 
without having to beg for a civil word from a whey- 
faced Maypole of a girl who’s always in the sulks ? ” 

“ W ell, Edward,” said Pamela, taking up her 
sister’s cause, though not in the way Jane would 
have liked best, “whatever you may think of Jane’s 
looks, it’s absurd to pretend that Mr. Isaacson doesn’t 
admire her, or that he doesn’t want to marry her. 
Why should he have been so anxious to drive her 
back, when she certainly didn’t give him much en- 
couragement ? ” 

While this discussion was going bn, Jane slipped 
quietly out of the room. But her troubles were not 
even over for the evening, for Pamela presently fol- 
lowed her upstairs, and putting her arm round her 
sister’s waist, began cautiously to suggest that really, 
since Mr. Isaacson was no doubt very seriously in 
love with her, and since Jane certainly was not in 
love with anybody else, that it might — really, you 
know — be as well to try — just to try, you know — 
if she couldn’t like him a little. 

“ What, 2/ ow, Pamela ! ” cried Jane. “You can’t 


A BROKEN REED. 


109 


understand how I hate him. A money-lender too ! 
Besides, you don’t know him as well as I do. Now 
and then I can hear something in his voice and see 
something in his face which shows me that he’s hard 
and cruel really, and not a bit like what he seems 
to you and the girls.” 

But Pamela thought she was fanciful, and when 
Jane expressed her intention of going up to town on 
the following morning, and asking her father’s ad- 
vice about her difficulty, the younger sister shook 
her head, and said : 

“ I shouldn’t expect too much from that, Jane. 
Papa’s advice will be : Marry him.” 

But Jane would not believe this. She had, being 
a careful girl, enough money saved out of her allow- 
ance to be able to make the journey without asking 
her mother for money, and she had made up her 
mind. Pamela thought it a terrible extravagance, 
for “ nothing at all,” as she said. 

“ Of course you’ll go up third class ? ” she asked. 
“Z should.” 

But Jane was not democratic enough or cour- 
ageous enough to make this sacrifice or dignity 
to economy. 

“ No,” she said, “ I could not. Traveling by my- 
self, too ! ” 

“ Why,” said Pamela, rising, candle in hand, and 
giving her sister a good-night kiss which had no 
great warmth in it, “ it’s much safer than going first 
class. And really, Jane, since you think so much 
of little things like that, it does seem to me that 
you’re silly not to marry a rich man when he asks 


no 


A TEERIBLE FAMIL Y. 


you. If you cared for anybody else it would be 
different — but as you don’t ; well, it is silly. 

The next morning Jane was leaving the house 
as her sisters came down to breakfast. Her train 
did not go until eleven minutes to ten, so she had a 
long time to wait. But she felt she could not face 
her mother and all the girls again this morning, with 
their praises of Mr. Isaacson — or rather, of Mr. Isaac- 
son’s possessions— and their reproaches, implied or 
expressed, of her folly. As she did not want to wait 
for nearly half an hour at the station, she went into 
the church-yard, which was close by, and sat down 
on an old tombstone under the trees. She had not 
been there more than a few moments when she be- 
came aware that a pair of human eyes were watch- 
ing her over the church-yard wall. Though she 
would not raise hers to meet them, she knew quite 
well whose they were. Therefore she only pretended 
to be surprised when presently Jim St. Rhadegund 
came along the path, raised his hat, passed her with 
the air of one who was too intent upon the study of 
tombstones to have any time to spare for a stray 
fellow- creature; and after a tour of inspection of 
the stones on that side of the church, came back to 
her across the grass as if led by accident into her 
neighborhood. 

“Mce morning,” said he. “You’re about early, 
Miss Blean.” 

“Yes, I’m going up to town.” 

“ By the nine forty-nine ? So am I.” 

Jane looked towards the station, but said nothing. 

“We often run up for the day, my brothers and 


A BROKEN REED. 


Ill 


I,” he exclaimed. “You see you can’t get auytliiiig 
you want in the village. And if it’s anything par- 
ticular that’s wanted, like a gun, or a fishing-rod, or 
a saddle, you may just as well go up to toAvn and get 
a good choice as go pottering off to Canterbury or 
Margate to look for what you know you won’t get.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Jane. 

There was a long pause. Jim evidently had some- 
thing in his mind which he wanted to say, but did 
not know how to express. 

“ I — I suppose we shall soon — suppose you will 
soon he going up — going off altogether ? ” he stam- 
mered out at last. 

Jane raised her eyes, hut not with her usual cool 
dignity. She knew what was coming, and she was 
agitated by the knowledge. Into her pale cheeks 
had come a little color, and her lips were parted in 
suspense. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, I mean that — I suppose that — after yester- 
day, meeting you driving — you know — that you will 
soon be going away married.” 

Jane rose from the grave-stone, trembling. 

“ It is not true, it is not true,” she said. “ If you 
hear that said, say, please, that it is not true. I am 
not going to he married to — to anybody. Why do 
you say such things ? ” 

Jim answered, quite as much agitated as she her- 
self was. He took hold of the grave-stone by which 
he was standing, and pulled bits of lichen off it 
with rapid fingers while he answered : 

“ Now look here, Miss Ihean, you can’t be angry 


112 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


at my thinking so. What was 1 to think? You are 
very particular ; everybody knows it, and says so : 
much more particular than other girls. So that 
people say that you don’t care for anybody, and 
that you never have cared for anybody, and that you 
will never care for anybody. I don’t mean to say 
that it’s true : I don’t know, but it’s what people 
say. Well, and then I meet you driving alone with 
a — a gentleman; and the sort of man that you 
wouldn’t be driving with unless you were going to 
marry him. What am I to think ? what would 
anybody think ? ” 

He had abandoned his tombstone, and had come 
close to her, and was looking eagerly into her face. 
She, as much excited as he, was trembling and 
panting, and struggling to find words. Tears of 
mortification sprang to her eyes too. As soon as 
Jim saw these, he spoke again, with a note almost 
of tenderness in his voice. 

“ I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to make you cry. 
I want to know why you seem so unhappy. Perhaps 
you’ll say I have no business to interfere, to ask. 
Will you say that? ” 

Jane had recovered herself, forced back her 
tears. 

“No,” she said, almost fiercely, “I will tell you 
why ; I should like you to know why. I was to be 
driven back yesterday by my brother; but at the 
last moment this man jumped up into the phaeton 
instead of him, and insisted on driving me back 
himself. I detest him. If ever you see me with 
liim, and I sincerely hope you never will ; but if you 


A BROKEN REED. 


113 


should — you may he sure that it is against my will, 
and that 1 would have avoided it if I could.” 

Jim looked at her in pitying astonishment. 

“ But I don’t understand,” he said, “ how you 
could be made to endure the presence of a man you 
don’t like. You who look so proud and cold too! 
It seems so strange that you should submit.” 

“ I know. Pamela wouldn’t ! She would have 
jumped out of the phaeton while it was going, or 
seized the reins and stopped the horses, or have 
done something like that. But I couldn’t ; I haven’t 
nerve enough. I’m a delusion.” 

Instead of despising her for this avowal, Jim 
seemed rather touched by it. There was something 
piquant in being able to pity such a tall, stately- 
looking young woman. As they stood there, both 
for a moment silent, Jane saw the train signaled. 

“ Good-morning,” she said, hastily, with a little 
bow of dismissal, as she went quickly towards the 
gate, and as soon as she had passed out began to 
run. But there was dignity even in her running, 
so Jim thought, and there was certainly grace. He 
followed at a respectful distance, and did not begin 
. to run himself until she was inside the station. He 
saw her get into a compartment by herself, and 
wished that he dared follow her in. But as he 
stood for a moment wistfully near the door, she 
stared beyond him with a grand unconsciouness 
whicli forbade him to enter. 

When the train arrived at Charing Cross, Jim 
jumped out of his own compartment in time to help 
her to alight, to put her into a hansom, and to give 


114 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


the driver the direction to a well-known street, near 
Piccadilly where bachelors’ chambers abound. He 
was consumed with curiosity, with something more. 
He would have given the world to have known 
who- she was going to see. With some hesitation, 
and greatly fearing a snub, he then asked her with 
the meekest and mildest of voices by what train she 
was coming back. 

“ I — I might perhaps be able to be useful to you in 
getting a cab or looking after your luggage, or — or 
anything,” he added, quickly, stammering as he re- 
membered how impracticable botli his suggestions 
were. ^ 

Jane saw this, and her reply was a serene rebuke. 

“ Why, there are no cabs at Salternes, and I have no 
luggage,” she said. “ But,” she added, softly, as his 
face fell a little, “ I don’t suppose I shall be able to 
come back by an earlier tram than the seven o’clock 
one — the one that gets into Salternes at nine fortv- 
eight.” 

Jim stepped back on to the platform, radiant. 
“ Right ! ” he cried to the cabman, and the way in 
which he sang out the word gave it a double mean- 
ing. He raised his hat, caught one last peep of a 
pale face and golden hair under a great black hat, 
and went on his way with a light heart. 

This, alas ! could not be said of Jane. It was with 
the feeling of a guilty man coming before his judge 
that she went up the steps of the house where her 
father’s chambers were. She had to mount to the 
second floor, and she pulled the bell under a tinj?- 
plate on which was inscribed the name “ Captain 


A BROKEN REED. 


115 


IIoacl-Blean ” with a heavy heart. Her own faith in 
her father’s sympathy remained, but it had been 
shaken by the doubts of her mother and Pamela. 

A supercilious little foreign man-servant answered 
the bell. 

“ Is Captain IIoad-Blean at home ? ” she asked, in 
a voice she could scarcely control. 

“ I will see, ma’am,” answered the man cautiously, 
“ if you will step inside.” 

“ Tell him, please, that his eldest daughter wishes 
to see him.” 

The man looked astonished, and half incredulous. 
But he disappeared through one of the two inner 
doors, carefully shutting it after him. Jane heard 
exclamations of impatience; and recognizing her 
father’s voice, she grew more frightened than ever. 
In a few moments, however. Captain Hoad-Blean 
himself appeared in the door- way, and welcoming 
her with much effusion, said he hoped that no bad 
news brought her up so unexpectedly. 

“Nothing very bad, papa,” answered Jane, upon 
whom a new knowledge of her father was breaking, 
as she noted the luxury of his surroundings, and com- 
pared it with the shabbiness of the worn-out furni- 
ture at home. The very contrast between her father 
himself, whose hair and black mustache she now per- 
ceived for the first time to be dyed, and her plainly 
dressed mother was startling enough. He wore a 
gorgeous smoking jacket and a pearl-gray silk scarf, 
the rest of his dress corresponding in smartness. 
Mamma had nothing to wear in the morning but her 
old black merino, that she had turned last winter. 


116 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ I was afraid I should find you. out, papa,” said 
she. 

And then, glancing at the table, she perceived he 
had not yet finished his breakfast. 

Captain IIoad-Blean saw the look and laughed. 

“Well, my dear, I think you have found me out,” 
said he cheerfully. “ But I was up late last night, 
had to see a friend off from — from Southampton, so 
I overslept myself this morning. Well, and now 
about your charming self, a far more interesting 
subject. What has given me the pleasure of this 
visit ? ” 

Jane felt bewildered. Was this the father whose 
wise paternal advice she had taken this daring jour- 
ney to get ? This dapper little gentleman, with the 
waxed mustache, and the beautifully fitted rooms 
got up in the style of a lady’s boudoir ? She stam- 
mered, hesitated. 

“ I have come to ask your advice, papa, and to beg 
you to speak to mamma for me ? ” 

Her father looked rather crestfallen : it was a 
grandfatherly sort of thing to have to do, he thought, 
to give advice to a great big girl like this, whom he 
could not prevent from calling him “ papa.” 

“ ]\[y dear,” said he, in the very airiest and most 
irresponsible manner he could assume, “ if it is upon 
any matter of dress, say a new bonnet, or upon the 
choice of a good novel, or the best comic opera going, 
I may say that I’m your man. But if it is anything 
that you would call more serious than that, why, 
my dear, your mother is far more capable of giving 
it you than I am ; and as to my speaking to her on 


A BBOKEN HEED. . 117 

your behalf, she thinks me too frivolous a person 
for my intercession to have any weight.” 

“ Oh, it would in this, I think ! ” said she ear- 
nestly. 

She had risen, and come nearer to the couch on 
which he had elegantly thrown himself. 

“ It is a subject on which a father can best advise 
his child, for you know more about men than I or 
than mamma.” 

The pleasant little gentleman’s face had fallen dur- 
ing this speech. He liked to forget the fact that he 
was a father, as well as to shirk the responsibilities 
of that position. The poor man perceived that he 
was to be bored. 

“Well, my dear,” said he resignedly, “go on.” 

Jane clasped her hands tightly together, and her 
father thought how handsome she looked. 

“ Papa, are not money-lenders hard, unscrupulous, 
and what you would call bad men ? ” 

Captain Hoad-Blean bounded up like a cork, and, in 
spite of his surprise at this opening, burst into an 
emphatic answer. 

“ By Jove, they are ! ” he cried, heartily. “ The 
hardest, most unscrupulous, and most altogether 
what everybody calls bad of any class of men on the 
face of the earth ! But ” — and here he stopped in 
his walk up and down, as astonishment in its turn 
got the better of passion — “what in the name of 
goodness have you got to do with money-lenders ? ” 

But at first Jane, in her joy at having found a 
sympathetic hearer at last, paid no heed to this 
question. 


118 


d TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ I knew you would say so ; I knew you would take 
my part! Oh, I’m so glad I came to you, papa ! You 
know all about these men,” here Captain Hoad- 
Blean gave a shrug and grimace — “ and you say that 
they are everything that is bad. Xow they can’t 
persist in wanting me to marry a man who is every- 
thing that is bad ; so they’ll have to leave off worry- 
ing me to marry Mr. Isaacson.” 

“ Wha — a — a — t ? ” screamed her father, glaring 
at her across the breakfast-table, on which he had 
lightly rested his white, perfumed hands. “ Isaacson 
of Old Broad Street and — and the Strand and 
Jermyn Street ! Asked — you — to — marry him? ” 
“Ye — es, papa,” stammered Jane, at a loss to 
understand this explosion. 

Captain Hoad-Blean groaned. 

“ If I had only known this the day before yester- 
day,” he exclaimed. Then turning quickly to his 
daughter, he said, briskly : “ My dear child, I con- 
gratulate you. If not exactly one of the richest, he 
is one of the soundest men in the city ! ” 

“Why, papa, you said just now money-lenders 
were not fit to speak to ! ” 

Captain IIoad-Blean waved away this misconcep- 
tion with a smile. 

“ Well, well, to sjyea/c to, no, no more they are. But 
to marry — that’s quite another pair of shoes 1 ” 


A FATHERS S LOVE. 


119 


CHAPTER X. 

A fathek’s love. 

Jane was struck dumb. Was this the sympathy 
and support for which she had come so far ? She 
felt that the ground was giving way under her feet. 
Captain IToad-Blean pursued what he thought to be 
his advantage, taking up, only with much more em- 
phasis, the line of argument pursued by Pamela and 
the twins. 

“ Why, my dear Jane, it is a chance in a thou- 
sand. When I said money-lenders were a bad lot, 
I spoke of their business relations. In private life, 
of course, they are just like other people, many of 
them most charming men. But are you quite sure, 
my dear, that it is Isaacson — Reuben Isaacson ? And 
that he does really want to marry you ? ” 

“Yes, papa, I am quite sure,” Jane answered, very 
quietly. 

“ Dear me ! ” 

Captain Hoad-Blean paced up and down the room 
on the opposite side of the table to where Jane was 
standing, throwing at his daughter from time to time 
a glance full of new respect and admiration. He 
was turning the matter over in his mind, still oc- 
casionally half incredulous as to the beautiful truth 


120 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


of the story. Splendid visions of the possibilities 
for himself in such a match rose in his mind. 

“ He’s got a yacht too, a beautifully fitted yacht, 

I believe,” he suddenly exclaimed. 

“Yes,” said Jane ; “the other girls have been on 
it.” 

This confirmation of the main story intoxicated 
Captain Hoad-Blean, who was devising what his first 
action should be, to clinch the nail on the head. 
Since the girl was such a fool as to seem not to un^ 
derstand her good fortune, she must be made to 
avail herself of it first, and to understand it after- 
wards. 

“ My dear,” he said, with the first touch of real 
fatherly kindness that he had yet shown, as distin- 
guished from the irresponsible kindness of the gay 
lady’s man to a lady, “ I am very glad you came up 
to consult me. For I think I shall be able to per- 
suade you better than any one else could, that it will 
be in every way for the best for you to accept this 
gentleman for your husband.” 

“ But, papa,” said Jane, not with exactly the same 
manner in which she would have spoken to him a 
week before, “ I don’t like him.” 

“ ^Yell, perhaps not just at first. These city men 
want knowing. But the fact that you are his su- 
perior by birth and breeding will be an advantage 
to you, believe me. You will be able to entertain all 
your old friends, and as this man will undoubtedly 
be much better off some day than he is already, you 
will find that the very highest society will be open 
to you. And Isaacson will be in a better position 


A fatiieh^s love. 


121 


than most of the self-made men, in not being bur- 
dened with a self-made wife.” 

Jane was going to protest. But he saw it in her 
face, and refused to listen. 

“Dear me,” cried he, looking at his watch, “it is 
one o’clock. I must take you somewhere to lunch- 
eon, and then we can go to the exhibition to pass the 
afternoon. You are in no hurry to get back, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“I am going back by the seven o’clock train,” 
replied she. 

. “Well, that will give us time for a pleasant day, 
and a pleasant little argument together. Excuse me 
one moment while I write a note.” 

He crossed to a writing-table, sat down to write 
his letter, and then left the room to hand it to his 
servant, with instructions for its immediate delivery 
by hand. Jane would have been interested to know, 
what he was careful not to tell her, that the envelope 
was directed to “ Reuben Isaacson, Esq.” 

If she had known whom the note was for, the poor 
girl would not have been as much surprised as she 
was when, walking about the exhibition grounds 
with her father, who was in the most amiable of 
humors, just as they were passing the little garden 
of the “ Welcome Club,” they came face to face with 
Mr. Isaacson. 

lie appeared amazed at the meeting, but Captain 
Hoad-Blean’s assumption of astonishment was not 
quite so successful. IBs daughter shot at him a 
quick glance which made him redden. She had 
guessed by what means the “ unexpected meeting ” 


122 


A TERIUBLE FAMILY. 


had been brought about. And although he said, 
“ Introduce me, my dear,” Jane fancied that the two 
men had met before. 

She was confirmed in this opinion on remarking a 
slight shade of insolence in Mr. Isaacson’s manner 
towards her father, and a more apparent shade of 
deference on the part of her father to the money- 
lender. She was very quiet, very silent, speaking 
only when she was addressed; but, as usual, she 
made no sort of open protest. JMr. Isaacson, who 
was a member of the “Welcome Club,” invited 
them in and entertained them at luncheon most lav- 
ishly. Every moment he grew more in love with 
her, as he noticed the impression which her stately 
beauty created on every stranger who passed. In- 
deed, the irritation and excitement from Avhich she 
was suffering improved Jane’s appearance, giving 
her cheeks more color and her eyes more bright- 
ness. 

He was too wise to make love to her in her father’s 
presence, contenting himself with attentions which 
were for the most part silent ones. Jane was grate- 
ful to him for this. Smarting as she still was from 
the revelation of her father’s character, she felt that 
he would have supported her unwelcome lover in a 
manner which would have been more than she could 
bear. 

It seemed to Jane that the afternoon would never 
end ; she was looking forward to seven o’clock as to 
the hour of a joyful release, and when six o’clock 
struck, she rose from the chair on which she had 
been sitting beside her father. 


A FATHEU^S LOVE. 


123 


I must be going now, papa,” she said. “ If you 
will put me into a hansom, I can manage by myself 
very well, and I need not take you to the station 
with me.” 

“ Is Miss Hoad-Blean going back to Salternes to- 
night ? ” asked Mr. Isaacson, in his suavest manner. 
“ Because, if she is going by the seven o’clock tri^in, 
I shall be very happy to escort her.” 

“ Oh, no, thank you, that is not at all necessary,” 
said Jane hastily. 

But her eagerly solicitous father turned to Isaac- 
son with gratitude : 

“ My dear fellow, I thank you ; I thank you exceed- 
ingly. I shall be very glad to entrust my daughter 
to your care for — for the journey. I can’t think how 
her mother could have allowed her to come up alone ! 
If it had not been for your kind offer, I should have 
felt obliged to go back with her myself.” 

He was hurrying his daughter through the build- 
ing. Mr. Isaacson paused a moment to buy some 
roses at one of the stalls. Jane seized the moment 
to beg her father to come back with her himself, as 
he had suggested. But he smiled at her benignantly, 
and said' 

“ No, my dear, it would be very inconvenient for 
me. And Mr. Isaacson will take every care of you. 
I’m sure.” 

He hurried her out through the door, and put her 
into a hansom with a tenderly paternal air, request- 
ing Mr. Isaacson, who jumped in after her, to take 
care of his darling. 

Then he stepped back on the pavement and raised 


124 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


his hat with a happy smile, feeling that for once in 
his life he had done his duty. 

Mr. Isaacson was too clever to force the running. 
He had got a good start, that was something ; he 
would not weaken his chance and expose himself to 
unnecessary snubs. So the drive to Charing Cross 
was almost a silent one. Jane hurried on to the 
platform and looked eagerly up and down. She 
saw no one she knew, and her face fell. On the 
other hand, there was some time to wait before the 
train started. She went to the book-stall, bought 
a paper, and affected to be deeply absorbed in its 
contents, to avoid talking to her assiduous com- 
panion, who now came up. From time to time, how- 
ever, she stole a glance along the platform. But no 
one she knew came in sight. 

At last Mr. Isaacson came up and respectfully 
informed her that he had found a nice carriage. 
Reluctantly she allowed herself to be conducted to 
the compartment he had chosen, and after linger- 
ing outside, until the guard warned them that it 
was time to enter, she entered the carriage more 
reluctantly still. From the meaning glance between 
Mr. Isaacson and the guard, Jane guessed' that the 
compartment was to be reserved. As soon as they 
were in, indeed, the guard locked it from the out- 
side. 

Jane had a lingering hope still left. She was sit- 
ting by the window : she rose and put her head out. 
Yes, there at the other end of the platform, running 
for the train, was Jim St. Rhadegund. Without 
uttering a word she watched him, let him see her. 


A FATII£!R^S LOVE. 


125 


He ran up. When he had nearly reached the door 
of the compartment, she beckoned to the obsequious 
guard to unlock the door. 

“This gentleman is with us,” she said. 

The door flew ojoen. To Mr. Isaacson’s extreme 
disgust, Jim St. Rhadegund, the handsome but odious 
young man whom the money-lender had already had 
occasion to notice for his unseemly attentions, sank 
breathless, smiling, and unspeakably happy, down 
on the opposite seat. 

Mr. Isaacson turned pale. He seldom lost his 
temper when anything serious was at stake, but he 
lost it now. Jumping up from his seat, he leaped 
out on to the platform before the guard had time to 
close the door ; and forgetting even to raise his hat 
in farewell to the lady, he disappeared from her sight 
as the train moved slowly out of the station. 

Now the moment that Jane had successfully 
accomplished this piece of daring, she was over- 
come by the consciousness that it had only taken 
her out of one awkward situation to plunge her into 
another. Instead of a lengthy tete-d,-tete with Mr. 
Isaacson, she had exposed herself to one just as 
lengthy with Jim St. Rhadegund. And as she 
glanced at the handsome young fellow on the op- 
posite seat, who was openly exulting in fate’s kind- 
ness to him, Jane almost began to wish that she 
had kept to her former companion. 

“ You did mean it then ? What you said this 
morning ? ” he asked, in a low voice. 

“What was that?” asked Jane, without looking 
at him. 


126 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“That whenever you were with him it was 
against your own will ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I did mean that certainly.” 

“Do you think he’ll have the cheek to come 
worrying you again, after tliis ? ” 

Jane began to look troubled, as the thought of 
what she would have to put up with from her family 
if Mr. Isaacson chose not to worry her again crossed 
her mind. 

“ I don’t know,” she said, with a sudden soberness. 

Jim’s radiant face fell a little. 

“ I don’t quite understand whether you want him 
to or not ! ” he exclaimed, impatiently. 

“ Neither do I,” said she. 

Jim’s face grew more serious still. 

“Well, then, if you are not quite, quite sure, 
wasn’t it rather a daring thing to do to — to ” 

“ To call you in ? ” 

“Exactly. For, you see, of course it made me 
think — well, think — well, think — all sorts of things. 
That — that — perhaps you liked me better than him, 
for one thing.” 

He had edged along the! seat a little way, so that 
he was immediately opposite to her, and he was 
diligently tracing the marks on the carpet with the 
point of his walking-stick. 

“ Oh, I do,” said Jane. 

But then the look he gave her, as he glanced up 
suddenly, and she found his face so very near to 
hers, set her blushing. 

“ You do like me better than him ? But perhaps 
that’s not saying much ? ” 


A FATUUH^S LOVE. 


127 


, “ No, it isn’t saying much.” 

Jim bent his head again, and Jane, feeling a 
curious sensation which the near neighborhood of 
a man had never before caused her, shrank back 
into her corner and kept very still. 

Jim cleared his throat once or twice before he 
spoke again. 

“ Do you think that it might ever be possible — for 
you to like me more than that?” 

“ More than what ? ” 

“ More than that isn’t saying much ? ” 

“ Oh, don’t ask me, don’t ask me. If you knew 
how dreadfully worried I am just now you wouldn’t 
ask me questions like that ! ” 

Now, although this answer might have been taken 
I indhe sense of a mild rebuff, yet it did not seem to 
damp Jim’s spirits. He looked up quickly with a 
i sympathetic face, and came quite an inch further 
on his seat. 

“Dreadfully worried! Poor girl! But if it’s 
only that fellow, we’ll soon choke him off.” 

The feeling that she had at last secured a listener 
who had the fullest, deepest sympathy with her in 
her dislike to Mr. Isaacson, put new animation into 
Jane and inspired her with confidence. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ you don’t understand. They all 
want me to marry him — all. In fact they take it 
for granted that I must. Father, mother, brother, 
sisters — all.” 

“ But you can’t be made to marry against your 
will ! ” 

“ Oh, can’t you ? If you’re a girl, and poor, and if 
a man comes and asks you who is rich! ” 


i28 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ But I’m rich too ! ” burst out Jim. 

And then, perceiving, even before her shrinking 
retreat into herself, what a rash speech he had made, 
he jumped ui), walked to the other window, and sat 
down by it. He jumped up again very quickly, 
though, finding that he had sat down upon some- 
thing. It was on poor Mr. Isaacson’s despised roses, 
wires and all. 

“ Oh, I’m so sorry, so very sorry. Look what I’ve 
done.” 

And very glad of this diversion, he brought the 
crushed flowers for her inspection. 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jane indifferently; 
“ throw them out of the window.” 

Jim obeyed with a savage delight. Letting down 
the window at the opposite end of the carriage, he 
flung the poor roses out with all the force of his arm, 
and came back instantly to Jane. 

“ If I were to bring you some flowers,” asked he, 
in a grave, judicial tone of voice, “ would you throw 
them away ? ” 

“ Oh, no, of course not. ” 

“If” — Jim hesitated, looked at Jane, and reading 
some signs of agitation in her manner which he in- 
terpreted favorably to himself, crossed over to her 
side — “if I were to ask you to marry me, what 
would you say ? ” 

“ Say no, of course,” she answered, with decision. 

“ But listen. You don’t dislike me as much as 
you do this Jew : you’ve admitted that much. And 
if you say yes to me you free yourself at once from 
all the lot. For if you’re engaged to one man, it’s 


A FA Tl! S LO VF. 


129 


evident you can’t be expected to get engaged to 
another. They want you to marry him because 
he’s rich. Well, T don’t suppose I shall ever be as 
rich as he, because there are four of us boys. But 
I shall be well off, and I’m a Christian, and I’m twenty 
years younger than he is. And — and don’t be angry 
with me for saying so — I have kept it back most 
beautifully, haven’t I? But I do love you so! I 
think of you all day and all night. And when I’m 
not praising you. I’m abusing you, just for the sake 
of talking about you. For I can s^^eak of nothing 
else.” 

His voice, as he spoke, vibrated with passion : he 
leaned towards her: his eyes shone with a light 
which no woman could fail to understand. Jaue 
was moved — deeply, pitifully moved. Her pretty 
I)ale face was puckered with distress as she put her 
hand out, as if to ward him off. 

“ Don’t talk like this to me — don’t,” she said, almost 
in a whisper. “ I can’t bear it — just now. I have 
learnt things to-day — dreadful things — which have 
made me so miserable that I can think of nothing 
else. How, if you are generous, as I believe you are, 
don’t say anything about this to me again. You 
know I don’t dislike you ; I like you. But I scarcely 
know you, and it seems even dreadful to me to be 
talking quite freely with a man I have known such 
a little while. Don’t be offended because I tell you 
the truth.” 

But Jim knew better than to be offended. He 
drew back a little, and sajd, very quietly : 

“ I won’t say another word about it. Only — when 

9 


130 


A TERIUBLE FAMILY. 


you see me very cool and calm and collected with 
you, you mustn’t think I’ve changed : I’m only 
trying to do what you wish.” 

And so, to her relief on the one hand, and yet per- 
haps a little to her disappointment on the other, 
Jim talked to her, for the rest of the journey, about 
horses, and about dogs, and about Colorado, and in 
fact everything but the forbidden subject. And 
they both enjoyed the journey immensely, in spite 
of this restriction. 

By the time the train had got on to Salternes 
Marsh, Jim found that this terrific exercise of virtue 
had brought about a terrible reaction. Jane’s sweet- 
ness, added to the charm of her beauty, had got 
into his head. She seemed, too, to show no great 
relief at having so nearly reached her journey’s 
end. 

Suddenly breaking off in a dissertation on rabbit- 
shooting, he asked, in a low voice which set some- 
thing suddenly stirring within her : 

“ Will you give me a kiss ?” 

For a moment Jane looked horror-struck. Then, 
glancing at him, she began to draw her breath very 
quickly. Putting both hands up to form a barrier 
while she parleyed, she whispered back : 

“ Remember, it’s not to count ! ” 

“ Oh, no,” answered Jim, in a voice just as low, full 
of passionate indignation at the idea. 

Before she had time to change her mind, if she 
wanted to, he had put his arm round her, and 
pressed his lips against hers^with a suddenness which 
took her breath away. 


A FATHEB^S LOVE. 


131 


Jane drew back, trembling, ready to get out. 
She had never, kissed a man before, and the sensa- 
tion was — oh ! terribly different from what she had 
expected. 


( 


132 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTER XI. 

MR. Isaacson’s revenge. 

When the seven o’clock train from London drew 
up to one of the three little platforms which formed 
Salternes station, Jane, who had exchanged not one 
word with Jim since that momentous affair of the 
kiss, stepped out of the carriage with a face which 
was still flushed and eyes still more than usually 
bright with excitement. And then, turning, she 
came face to face with Mr. Isaacson, who had trav- 
eled down in the next carriage. 

Xow, if Jane’s face betrayed to the Jew’s keen 
eyes that she had not been bored by her journey, the 
face of the young man beside her was still more elo- 
quent. Jane was frightened by the scowl on the face 
of her rejected admirer. For a feAV moments she 
had had the pleasure of forgetting his existence, and 
now she was suddenly recalled to remembrance of 
the welcome which awaited her at home, where his 
suit was so highly favored. 

“ I see,” said he, recovering with a great effort 
something like his usual manner, “that you have 
had a pleasant journey down, much pleasanter than 
you would have had with an old fogie like me. Your 
brother Edward is staying at my house : I must send 
him back to you to-night to congratulate you.” 


MR. ISAACSON \S REVENGE. 


133 


And before either Jane or Jim could make any 
answer to this menace, he had raised his hat and 
disappeared into the station, where the phaeton and 
the handsome chestnuts, surrounded by an admiring 
group of villagers, were waiting for him. 

“ Do you know what he means by that ? ” said Jane. 
“ He has lent my brother money.” 

“The coward!” cried Jim. “He deserves to be 
kicked. Never mind ; don’t trouble your head about 
him. It will all come right, you’ll see.” 

And as they came through the little wooden station 
together, he took her hand and gave it a gentle, com- 
forting pressure, against which act Jane offered no 
remonstrance. They walked together as far as the 
Priory gates, where Jane commanded him to leave 
her. But with the remembrance of that kiss upon 
him, this was more than he could do. 

“ Let me just go as far as the corner,” he 
pleaded. ' 

So they went on to the corner, where she stopped 
again. 

“Now,” she said, “you really must go. I don’t 
know what they will say at home as it is.” 

“ They would say a great deal less if you would 
I only let me go on with you to the door, so that they 
could see me with you, and then you could go in 
and say out boldly at once that you were engaged 
to me. Do, Jane, my own beautiful Jane, do.” 

I And he drew caressingly near to her, so that she 
[almost fancied she felt a touch on her shoulder. 
Jane, who was already shocked at her own indiscre- 
tion in having given such pronounced encourage- 


134 


A TElllUBLE FAMILY. 


ment to a man she had not known six months, drew 
back in terror. 

“ Oh ! ” she whispered, “ remember, you promised 


Jim, with a wistful look, let his arm drop to his 
side. 

“ All right,” he said, gruffly. She would have run 
up the street without another word. But Jim fol- 
lowed her, so that after the first few steps she again 
came to a stand-still. “I say,” he whispered, “you 
won’t go and let them persuade you to have that 
fellow after all, will you ? I couldn’t stand that, you 
know, really. Because, of course, though that — you 
know what — doesn’t count, still one remembers.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Jane gracefully, glancing 
to right and left with tingling cheeks, as if afraid 
that the very swallows under the eaves might un- 
derstand his allusion to that injudicious kiss. 

Once more, as she would have left him, he de- 
tained her. This time what he had to say needed to 
be said in such a very low whisper that he thought 
it necessary to put his lips quite close to her ear. 

“ And — and you won’t let any other fellow kiss 
you and say it doesn’t count ? ” 

“ Of course not,” cried Jane indignantly. 

And absolutely refusing to heed his further at- 
tempts to detain her, she finally broke away and 
went alone to the door of her home. 

Of course the twins, to whom Jane was now the 
chief center of interest in the family, were on the 
lookout for her. They knew that she had gone up 
to London to see papa, and they were eager for news 


MR. ISAACSON'S REVENGE. 


135 


of him, and of the matter which had taken Jane on 
this hasty journey. Jane broke away from them 
and went upstairs to see Pamela, who was dressing 
for dinner. There was more true friendship be- 
tween these two than is generally the case with sis- 
ters, who generally prefer a female friend outside 
the family circle to whom to confide the loose chit- 
chat and trivial impulses which they call their 
thoughts and feelings. 

Pamela sprang at her, full of excitement. 

“ Well, and what did papa say ? ” 

In the scenes which had succeeded her interview 
with her father, Jane had for a time almost forgot- 
ten him. The memory of her disillusion now caused 
her face to cloud over. 

“ Oh, Pamela,” she cried, “ don’t ask me what he 
said. He shocked me — he would have shocked you. 
We have always taken his part, but I never can 
again.” 

Pamela, who was regarding her sister in a critical 
manner, gave a queer little smile. 

“ To tell you the truth, I’m not so much surprised 
as I should have been two months ago. It is the 
things about pajm which Edward has let drop that 
have opened my eyes. He advises you to marry Mr. 
Isaacson, of course ? ” 

“Advises! Oh, Pamela, worse than that ! I will 
tell you what he did to-day.” 

And she gave her sister a full account of her ad- 
ventures, not even withholding, though she told this 
adventure with much shame, the story of the ac- 
corded kiss. 


136 


A TEliUIBLE FAMILY. 


Pamela, whose interest and attention had been 
doubled at all the points where Jim St. Rhadegund 
came into the story, held her breath when the cli- 
max was reached. 

“You did ? You ? You kissed him ? ” she asked, 
gasping between the concise questions, to all of 
which Jane replied by a nod. “Why, Jane, / 
wouldn’t have done it ! ” 

“I can’t understand it myself,” admitted poor 
Jane humbly. “ I don’t know how it was. But he 
was so kind, and I had been so worried, and he the 
only person who dislikes Mr. Isaacson as much as I 
do myself ! ” 

“Well,” said Pamela, with tactical promptitude, 
“ if you like him enough to kiss him, surely you like 
him enough to become engaged to him. There 
would be an end to the difficulty.” 

“ That’s what he says. But I can’t, all in a hurry 
like that. It isn’t proper.” 

“ Oh, Jane, what an odd creature you are ! It’s 
much more proper than to let mamma and Edward 
and the twins worry your life out. I simply don’t 
know what Edward will say. He went off this 
morning, and I gathered from whaf he said that he 
was going to spend the day at Mr. Isaacson’s bunga- 
low, with his permission, and that when Mr. Isaac- 
son came hack from the city this evening, they were 
going away on the yacht together. And he was in 
great spirits, making sure after yesterday that you 
would marry this Mr. Isaacson, and that then he 
needn’t trouble about his debts to him, but could 
have as much pocket-money as he pleased. So I 


MR. ISAACSON^ S REVENGE. 187 

suppose this man bribed Edward every step of the 
way.” 

Jane shivered. That Pamela’s surmise was cor- 
rect she could not doubt ; and from the words Mr. 
Isaacson had uttered at the station, she guessed that 
Edward would come home that night in a state of 
exasperation which, in his present condition, would 
be little, if anything, short of madness. Falteringly, 
Jane told her sister of this also^ and the girls brooded 
in silence over the trouble they would have with their 
mother as well as with Edward, if he should prove 
very violent. For Mrs. IIoad-Blean, when the girls 
had gently approached the subject of his mental 
condition with her, had turned upon them fiercely, 
and had declared that their suggestion that she 
should speak to the doctor about him was spiteful, 
malicious, absurd. 

“The worst of it is,” said Pamela refiectively, 
leaning on the dressing-table, with her chin in her 
hand, “ that I happen to be in disgrace too.” 

Jane was eager to hear the story of this misfor- 
tune, but the dinner-bell rang, and they had to hurry 
downstairs. It was not until after dinner, there- 
fore, that Pamela was able to tell her more about it 
than just this : “that it was all on account of those 
wretched St. Rhadegunds.” 

When they went into the drawing-room, after 
dinner, Pamela found an opportunity of telling her 
story. 

Not long after breakfast that morning a rather 
peremptory invitation had come from Lady Con- 
stantia, for Mrs. Hoad-Blean and Pamela to come to 


188 


A TEUmBLE FAMILY. 


Salternes Court to luncheon. The note contained 
an underlined postscript : “ Alfred will be here,” 
which Pamela resented as being supposed to con- 
tain an irresistible to her to come. On arrivmg 
at Salternes Court, the ladies found that Lady Con- 
stantia had sent for them to arrange the terms of 
an alliance between the two families, by means of 
which the St. Rhadegunds were to be boycotted, and 
eventually forced to leave the neighborhood. Alfred, 
who, Pamela said was sure had been made by the 
St. Rhadegund lads to feel his own inferiority in 
some marked and disagreeable manner, was even 
more eager than his mother. Mrs. Hoad-Blean had 
shoAvn signs of yielding to the pressure put upon 
her, when Pamela, struck by the unfairness of the 
proceeding, raised her voice in firm protest. If the St. 
Rhadegunds were cut by everybody else in the county, 
she said, her own family would have to stand by 
them. They were good tenants, and that was all that 
they, as landlords, could concern themselves with. 

“You know, Jane,” she said, earnestly, “ Pm not 
at all prejudiced in favor of these people, and as for 
that eldest, I hate him. But it was so unfair, and 
Alfred spoke so spitefully, that I felt I must say 
what I think. They wanted to keep them out of 
the horse show. Of course that was Alfred’s doing, 
because he knew that their splendid riding would 
show up his, which is nothing great. So I got myself 
into terrible disgrace. Then, afterwards, I went into 
the conservatory to look at the new palms. And 
Alfred came out and tried to make it up, but I 
wouldn’t give way. Then he said that I was an ob- 


MB. ISAACSON^ S BEVENGE. 


139 


stinate little thing, and that I didn’t deserve to be 
forgiven. I told him that, more than that, I didn’t 
want to be. And he stooped, and tried to kiss me, and 
I — I behaved much better than you did, for Z boxed 
his ears ! ” 

Jane sighed. 

“ But then, dear,” she suggested, meekly, “ you 
don’t care for Alfred ! ” 

“ Not much,” admitted Pamela. “ Still, every- 
body thinks so much of him about here, just be- 
cause he is a Fitzjocelyn, that I thought my indif- 
ference rather noble. Especially,” she added, Avdth 
a sigh, “ as it will shut me out of Salternes Court, 
and make mamma very angry. When I told her, she 
said I couldn’t decently go to their garden-party 
next week. For that if I did, he would be sure to 
pay marked attention to some other girl, to make 
his defection from me the more marked.” 

“Don’t trouble about it or about him, dear,” said 
Jane soothingly. “You’re much too good and too 
pretty to be wasted on that horrid Alfred, Avhom I 
never liked. Come and sing somethmg: mamma 
keeps looking at us; she knows we’re talking 
treason.” 

The girls got up, and went to the piano, and 
Jane, who had a sweet voice sang several songs to 
Pamela’s accompaniment. In the midst of a song, 
they were startled by a shriek from one ’of the 
twins. Looking round in alarm, they saw that the 
door had been noiselessly opened, and that Edward 
stood just inside the room, clinging to the handle, 
and swaying as he stood. It was no wonder that 


140 


A TERIUBLE FAMILY. 


his appearance had frightened his little sisters, who 
sat iinmediatel}^ opposite to the door. 

With a face of leaden pallor sunken eyes, hang- 
ing under-lip, and head bent forward, he seemed in- 
capable of speech or movement, and both the twins 
thought he was intoxicated. 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean sprang up from her chair, and 
ran forward to meet him. 

“My dearest boy,” said she affectionately, put- 
ting her arm within his and trying to lead him out 
of the room, “ come upstairs ; you look tired. Come 
and speak to me upstairs.” 

For a minute he seemed not to understand her, 
and stood there helpless and sullen, only opposing 
a passive resistance to her gentle attempts to lead 
him out. But as his heavy eyes were lifted for a 
moment from the ground, he caught sight of Jane, 
and made a spring towards her, with a cry of rage. 
Fortunately his mother, still clinging to him, stood 
in the way. 

“ T^et me get at her, I will get at her, do you hear ? ” 
he cried, in an indistinct voice, running the words 
together. “ She has ruined me, had me treated like 
a dog. I will kill her — kill her. You shall not stop 
me.” 

The poor little twins began to cry, divided be- 
tween a wish to run away and a wish to stay and 
help to prevent their brother doing any mischief. 
Mrs. TIoad-Blean, hanging round her son’s neck, 
looked over his shoulder and told them to run up- 
stairs and to keep quiet, commands which they 
obeyed readily enough. 


MU. ISAACSON^ S BEVENGE. 


141 


Pamela wanted Jane to go away too. But her 
eldest sister, who had courage enough of the pas- 
sive sort, refused to leave her mother and sister 
alone with a man whom they could scarcely doubt 
to be a dangerous lunatic. 

“ He will calm down, perhaps, if he did not see 
you,” suggested Pamela. 

“ ISTo. He will be just as angry with you for keep- 
ing him from me as he is with me.” 

While the girls rapidly exchanged these few words, 
a change came over their brother. The rage which 
a moment before convulsed his features gradually 
gave place to the dull, sullen look he had worn on 
first entering the room. He ceased to struggle with 
his mother, but looked down at her stupidly. 

“ What are you doing? ” asked he; “ can’t you let 
a fellow alone ? ” 

Half re-assured, Mrs. IIoad-Blean tried to laugh, 
and takmg his hand, led him to a sofa, on which 
she made him sit down. As he crossed the room, 
Pamela, with a quick gesture, entreated Jane to 
take the opportunity of escaping from the room 
while his back was turned. 

“But mamma?” whispered Jane. 

“ All right. I have an idea,” said Pamela back. 

The girls, went noiselessly out into the passage, 
and Pamela ran to the kitchen, and asked Mrs. Gib- 
son, the cook, a muscular woman untroubled with 
“ nerves,” to go into the drawing-room. 

“ Mr. Edward has come back in a furious passion 
about something, and we are afraid he will be 
violent and frighten mamma,” she explained, hastily. 


142 


A TERRIBLE FA^IILY. 


Mrs. Gibson, who had her suspicions about Mr. 
Edward, obeyed at once. Pamela ran into the din- 
ing-room, which was at the back of the house. 
There was only one window to this room, and it had 
once been attempted by burglars : so Mrs. Iload- 
Blean had had it fitted with an iron shutter, which 
fastened with a key. Pamela now pulled up this 
shutter, locked it, and put the key in her pocket. 

“ I think we had better get him to sleep in here,” 
she said. “ He can have a bed made up for him on 
the sofa, and we can lock him in. And in the morn- 
ing mamma must let us send for Doctor AVilloughby.” 

As she spoke, she was busily clearing out of the 
side-board all the knives and forks, decanters and 
glasses. 

“ We mustn’t leave anything that he could hurt 
himself with,” she said. 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when 
both girls heard a noise in the passage, hoarse 
laughter from Edward, and the cries of his mother. 
The next moment Edward had burst into the din- 
ing-room, and leaning upon the table, was staring 
savagely at his sister Jane, who was on the opposite 
side of it. 

“You beauty ! ” he exclaimed, in the same thick, 
indistinct voice, as if his teeth were closed all the 
time he spoke; “you she-devil! You’re too good 
for anyone, are you ? Too good to be looked at, are 
you ? ril spoil your beauty for you, you detestable 
hag! ril spoil your face, just as I’ve spoilt the face 
of the young cad you’ve taken a fancy to, you know. 
You know who I mean ! I shot him, I shot him, I tell 


MTU ISAACSON liEVENGE. 


143 


you. He’s lying in the road dead, half-way between 
here and Rylstone. Ha, ha! You don’t like that, 
don’t you? It makes you shudder, doesn’t it, to 
think of his lying there, quite, quite, in the dust? 
He rolled over, dead, without a cry. Your brother 
did that, I did that. And I’ll serve you the same. 
Do you hear ? Do you hear ? ” 

While he delivered this terrible speech, all in a 
slow, drawling tone, as if utterance was difficult for 
him, Mrs. IIoad-Blean was holding one of his arms, 
and the cook the other. But as he did not make 
the slightest resistance, or any attempt to free him- 
self, their vigilance and their hold gradually relaxed 
together, as they listened, horror-struck, but yet in- 
credulous, to the terrible story he was telling. 

Suddenly, when his voice had sunk quite low and 
his body was swaying as if with weakness or fatigue, 
he Avrenched himself free Avith a violent effort fling- 
ing both the Avomen back, and producing something 
Avith a rapid movement from an inner pocket of his 
coat, he raised his hand. Before either his mother, 
or Mrs. Gibson, or Jane herself, had realized what 
he was doing, they saAV a flash, and heard a sharp 
report. 


144 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTER XTI. 

Pamela’s night joueney. 

Thkee out of the four women were too much par- 
alyzed with fright to do so much as utter a cry. 
Fortunately, the fourth was quicker witted. Before 
Edward had time to fire a second shot, Pamela had 
thrown herself upon him, and flung up his hand 
with so much force, that the revolver dropped behind 
him upon the floor. He was so utterly taken by 
surprise that he made only a passive resistance as 
she pushed him before her towards the end of tlie 
room, where there was a sofa. But recovering him- 
self in a few moments, he tried to throw her off, 
and she then called to the cook to help her. Between 
them, they got him down upon the sofa, and searched 
in all his pockets to make sure that he had no other 
weapon about him. Pamela took away his pocket- 
knife, and handed it to Jane, at the same time whis- 
pering to her to pick up and carry away the revolver. 

When his eldest sister came near, Edward burst 
out afresh into violent abuse of her ; but the strong 
hands which held him prevented him from attacking 
her. Although not powerfully built or specially 
muscular, Edward struggled hard enough to tax the 
strength of his sister and the cook to the utmost ; 
for the frenzy which possessed him gave him for the 


PAMELA'S NIGHT JOURNEY. 145 

time more physical force than was normally his. 
It was not until Jane had left the room that he 
became calmer. 

All this time Mrs. Hoad-Blean was sobbing quietly 
on a chair a few paces off, murmuring below her 
breath : “ My boy ! my boy ! ” ready on the slight- 

est gesture to come forward and fling her arms round 
his neck. But he scowled when he caught her eyes, 
and turned away his head, sullen, inert, and morose. 

“ You’d better go away, mamma,” said Pamela 
gently. 

And Edward chimed in with a harsh voice : 

“ Yes, go away for goodness’ sake. I can’t stand 
that crying.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean left the room without a word. 
Then Pamela, with a sign to Mrs. Gibson to remain 
on the alert, left the room in her turn, taking with 
her the trayful of knives and forks and glass which 
she had taken from the sideboard. Having put 
these away in a safe place, she got the housemaid 
to help her to bring down some bed-clothes, which 
she carried into the dining-room. ' 

“ What are you bringing those things in here for ? ” 
asked Edward quietly. 

“ We are going to make you up a bed on the sofa 
here, because if you were to sleep m your old room, 
next to mamma’s, she would be in and oTit all night, 
and neither you nor she would get any rest,” answered 
Pamela composedly. 

“ All right,” he answered, with apparent acquies- 
cence. 

But Pamela was not deceived by this amazing 

10 


146 A TEEIUBLE FAMILY. 

calmness. There was a sort of smoldering fire in 
her brother’s eyes which she felt might break out 
at any moment into another burst of rage. When 
the women were ready to leave the room, he sud- 
denly burst into a husky laugh : 

“You think you’ve been very clever, don’t you? 
You think you’ve made everything so nice and snug 
and safe ? But you’re mistaken, my dears. I’ve 
paid out one person, but there are two more to settle, 
and I shall settle them, whatever you may do. I 
haven’t any grudge against you, I don’t trouble my 
head about you : I have to do with Jane, and with 
Isaacson. Good-night, my dear.” 

“ Good-night,” said Pamela, returning his mock- 
ing words quite gently. And she went out of the 
room, locked the door, and drew the two bolts which 
were the further precautions taken against burglary. 

Then she went in search of Jane. But Jane was 
nowhere to be found. At last Pamela stumbled 
upon the frightened twins, crouching in a corner, 
who said they had seen Jane run out of the house, 
and had heard her talking to some one. “ One of the 
St. Rhadegunds, we think,” added Myrtle. 

And Pamela was satisfied. 

When Jane, with the others, heard her brother’s 
account of his having shot Jim St. Rhadegund, and 
left him lying dead in the road, she had, like the 
rest, treated the story as an absolute fiction, a dis- 
agreeable fiction indeed, one that brought a pang to 
her heart and moisture to her eyes, but an undoubted 
fiction none the less. When, however, the pistol- 
shot, close to her ear, showed her that he was armed, 


PAMELA'S NIGHT JOURNEY. 


147 


there flashed suddenly into her mind a horrible fear 
that the story might be true. She had obeyed 
Pamela’s orders mechanically, taken the pocket-knife 
and revolver, and hidden them in a drawer in her 
own room. But then, snatching a hat without 
further delay, she had fled down the stairs and out 
of the house toward the Priory. 

It was late : there were few lights in the house, 
and the lawn was deserted. Jane opened the gates 
and ran up the straight path to the house. A maid- 
servant, who had seen her from one of the windows, 
ran down to open the door before she could ring. 

“ Has anything happened, ma’am ?” asked the girl, 
with concern. 

“ Mr. James St. I thadegund — is he in ? ” 

“ No, ma’am, he hasn’t been in all day. He said 
he would be back to dinner at half-past seven, but 
he hasn’t been in yet.” 

Jane’s face was convulsed with her distress, and 
the servant grew alarmed. 

“ You don’t think — anything has happened to him, 
ma’am? ” 

Jane, who was breathing heavily, was at first un- 
able to answer. 

“ The other gentlemen — can I see them, any of 
them ?” she asked in a faltering voice. 

“ They’re all out, ma’am. Master Tom and Mas- 
ter Bob has gone over to Canterbury with the mas- 
ter ; and Master Dick ” 

Jane did not wait to hear more. Turning away 
with a short “ thank you,” and a little stifled groan, 
she hurried down to the gate again. 


148 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


“ Jim, oh, Jim ! ” she said below her breath, as 
she clasped her hands and stood for a moment at 
the corner of the street, wondering which way she 
should turn. 

But the whispered words were scarcely out of her 
mouth when she heard footsteps coming rapidly 
behind her. 

“ What — ^what was that you said ? ” cried a man’s 
voice. 

Jane screamed ; a very lady-like little scream it 
was, but yet a scream. Turning sharply, she had 
no time to repress the instinct which made her hold 
out her arms, before Jim had taken advantage of 
her indiscretion and put himself within them. 

“ 0-o-o-ohf Jim ! ” half sobbed, half sighed out 
poor Jane, as she closed her eyes in unutterable 
thankfulness, and did not concern herself Avith the 
fact that Jim audaciously kissed her again and 
again. 

He was too happy at first to trouble himself about 
the events which had led to his unexpected good 
fortune. Something had happened, of .course, prob- 
ably much family unpleasantness on the subject of 
her unkindness to Mr. Isaacson : but the precise 
details didn’t matter for the present. 

“ Now, mind,” said he, wheh Jane had gone so far 
as to give him a kiss back, “ we do count them now. 
There’s to be no more shilly-shallying. I’m engaged 
to you, and you’re engaged to me ; you under- 
stand ? ” 

“ Oh, Jimy don’t talk about such things now. I 
thought you were dead, dead ! Oh ! ” 


PAMELA^ S NIGHT JOURNEY. 


149 


“ Well, you’re quite satisfied that I’m not, aren’t 
you ? ” 

“ Jim,” said Jane, holding herself suddenly away 
from him, and looking up with terror in her eyes, 
“ my brother said he had killed you, shot you. He 
said you were lying dead in the road. And at first 
I didn’t believe it ; but when he took out a revolver 
and fired at me ” 

“ Fired at you ! ” interrupted Jim, unutterably 
shocked. 

“Yes. Then I thought it might be true, and I 
ran out — to the Priory. And when they said you 
had not been in all day— Oh, Jim ! ” 

“I’ve been walking up and down outside your 
house ever since you went in,” explained Jim, “ first 
at the back and then at the front. I saAV your 
brother go in. Where is he now ? ” he added sharply. 
“ Who is looking after him ? ” 

“ Pamela was going to shut him up in the dining- 
room, where he can’t get out either by the door or 
the window.” 

“ And there’s no one but you girls in the house ? 
Can’t I be of any use.” 

Jane shook her head. 

“I don’t think so. Mamma won’t believe that 
he’s out of his mind.” 

“Well, then, she ought to be made to believe it at 
once. Let me go for your doctor. She would have 
to believe him.” 

Jim took a step in the direction of the Priory 
stables, anxious to carry out his suggestion at 
once. But at that moment Mrs. Hoad-Blean herself 


150 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


appeared at an open window above their heads, and 
said, icily : 

“ I am extremly obliged by your kindness, but 
your offer in quite unnecessary. My son is as sane 
as any one in the house, and Jane ought, to be 
ashamed of herself by being frightened by the crack 
of a toy pistol which was only meant to frighten 
her.” 

“ But, madam,” said Jim earnestly, coming close 
under the window, and speaking in a low voice, for 
fear of rousing the neighbors, most of whom by this 
time were in bed, “your son is certainly not 
very well, or he wouldn’t be so excessively irritable. 
The doctor would give him a sedative, and he would 
be quite himself in the morning. I should enjoy 
the drive.” 

“I am sorry to be obliged to decline your interfer- 
ence,” answered Mrs. Hoad-Blean in the same tone 
as before. “ If you persist in bringing a doctor here, 
as I am quite sure that the sight of one at such an 
hour would upset my son, I shall take means to 
prevent his seeing him.” 

“ Very well, madam,” said Jim. 

Aiivd thinking it unwise to irritate further the un- 
happy mother, Jim silently pressed Jane’s hand, 
raised his hat, and returned to the Priory. Jane 
crept indoors. Pamela was on the watch in the 
passage. 

“ I can hear him moving about, shaking the door, 
rattling the window,” she whispered. “ I am afraid 
that poor mamma will want to go in and talk to him. 
She fancies, poor thing, that her influence will calm 


PAMELA^ S ,NIG [IT JOURNEY. 151 

him, although Ave haA^e all seen that it does not. 
We shall have to keep Avatch here all night.” 

Jane told her sister of Jim St. Rhadegund’s offer 
and the rejection by Mrs. Hoad-Blean. Pamela 
sighed. 

“ Better not to drag them into the business if Ave 
can help it,” said she. “ If he gets any more violent, 
I shall get Mrs. Nibson to sit up here Avith you, and 
go myself to Rylestone for Doctor Willoughby.” 

Jane did not ask hoAv: Avhen it came to active 
measures Pamela could be trusted to find a Avay. 

Before long the restlessness of EdAvard in the 
dining-room and of his mother in her room over- 
head increased in such a degree that both the girls 
felt that the danger Avas no longer to be trified Avith. 
Maniacal laughs, folloAved by a succession of jumps 
and animal -like cries, made it plain to every hearer 
but his mother, that the unfortunate young man 
Avas, for a time at least, insane. Pamela rose noise- 
lessly from the chair on Avhich she had been sitting. 

“ Mind,” she Avhispered Ioav in her sister’s ear, “ you 
are not to let mamma go in, or EdAvard come out.” 

Jane nodded ; and Pamela, hastily putting on the 
hat and ulster AAdiich she had brought down Avitli 
her in exjDectation of this emergency, slid out of the 
house without a sound. 

Her plans Avere made. Further up the street, or 
rather lane, there lived an elderly Avoman Avho pos- 
sessed a light cart and a strong pony. Pamela Avent 
to her cottage, Avoke the old lady Avithout difficulty 
by tapping at her bedroom AvindoAV Avith a bean- 
pole, and asked if she might go in the stable and 


152 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


take out the pony and cart. Her brother was ill, 
she said, and she had to fetch the doctor. The 
woman at once dropped the stable key out of the 
window ; and Pamela who had an inborn love of 
horses, and who had often saddled or harnessed a 
pony ill the old days at the Priory, was soon on her 
way to Rylestone, taking care to go up the lane in- 
stead of returning past the house. She could gain 
the high-road by a turning farther on. It was 
about ten o’clock and the country was deserted. 
The moon, though not at the full, gave light enough 
for her to see her way without difficulty.’ Her 
route lay at first between hedgeless fields in which 
the young corn and green crops were growing,; but 
soon a turn to the left, up a rough, narrow lane, led 
her into the Canterbury road, as it was called, being 
the high-road from Canterbury to Rylestone. Half- 
way up this lane, which was shaded by tall trees, 
she met a man on foot. She could not see who lie 
was as he stood on the bank to let the cart pass ; 
but she had hardly come abreast of him when he 
said, in a voice in which there were perceptible 
traces of anxiety : 

“ Miss Pamela ! ” 

Pamela reined in, recognizmg the voice of Mr. 
Isaacson. 

“Anything the matter — at home? I hope not, 
I’m sure I hope not ? ” 

Now Pamela rightly considered that much of the 
blame for Edward’s return belonged to his Jewish 
friend, who, snubbed by Jane, had taken a pitiful 
revenge upon Edward, whose temper and disposi- 


PAMELA'S NIGHT JOURNEY. 153 

tion he must certainly have had full means of study- 

mg. 

“ Indeed, Mr. Isaacson,” she retorted sharply, “ if 
nothing serious has happened as yet, it is not through 
your fault.” 

‘‘ What do you mean ? ” asked Mr. Isaacson, in a 
voice which he in vain tried to make only one of 
astonishment. 

“ My brother fired a revolver at Jane.” 

Mr. Isaacson uttered an exclamation of* such 
genuine horror that Pamela was a little softened 
towards him. 

“ The question is,” she went on in a less severe 
tone, “ how did he get the revolver ? ” 

In a state of pitiable nervousness and anxiety, 
]\Ir. Isaacson took hold of the cart, bringing a face 
full of terror nearer to hers. 

“ It was mine,” he said in a whisper. “ I can’t 
tell you how I felt when I found he had taken it. 
I know I was to blame in telling him anything about 
the annoyance your sister caused me to-day ; I admit 
I didn’t care if he went and blew her up. But I 
never thought — Oh, my God ! I never thought that 
he would do such a thing as that! You do believe 
me, don’t you ? ” 

Pamela believed him, because his sincerity was 
beyond suspicion. The man was in a pitiable state 
of alarm. 

“Yes, oh, yes. But don’t detain me now. My 
mother won’t believe that he is out of his mind, so 
I am going for the doctor, who will make her 
•believe. We are afraid she will let him out.” 


154 


A TERRIBLE FAMILT. 


But Mr. Isaacson was loth to let her go. 

“ What made me first suspect that he had taken 
the revolver,” said he, “was hearing a sound like a 
pistol-shot out in the road ahead of me. I had gone 
after him some distance, alarmed by tlie way in 
which he dashed out of the place, and ” 

Pamela held her breath, she thought of Edward’s 
story that he had killed Jim St. Rhadegund, and a 
horrible fear sprang into her mind that he had per- 
hai)s, really shot some other man in mistake for 
him. 

“Let me go, let me go on,” she said, hoarsely. 

“ Don’t he alarmed,” cried Mr. Isaacson after her, 
“ I have searched all the way along, but have seen 
nothing, nothing. There is no cause for alarm.” 

But in spite of this assurance, Pamela whipped up 
the pony and trotted up the rest of the lane at a 
brisk pace. Just as she turned into the high-road, 
passing a pretty old red-brick farm-house on the 
right, she heard the neigh of a horse in a road 
which met the lane almost in a direct line. Pamela 
thought the circumstance sufficiently worthy of note 
to go up the lane a little way. Her heart seemed to 
leap into her mouth when she came suddenly, in the 
darkness under the trees, to a horse, whose bridle 
had been fastened to a post. 

“ Pearl ! ” she cried, as she sprang down out of 
the cart. The mare who recognized her and turned to 
her at once, was saddled ; and the saddle was wet, 
wet with blood. 

To make fast the pony to the opposite paling was 
the work of a few seconds ; and then Pamela, with 


PAMELA^ S NIGHT JOUBNET. 155 

straining eyes, examined the ground near the mare’s 
feet. In a few moments more she had discovered a 
small dark stain disappearing from time to time 
altogether in the dust ; the traces of blood could yet 
be followed in a direct line to the cross-roads she had 
just left. Here they appeared to the left, and cross- 
ing the road, disappeared in the hedge which sur- 
rounded a big orchard belonging to the red farm- 
house. 

Looking closer, Pamela perceived something which 
looked like a gate broken down. She scrambled 
through the gap which had been made, small as it 
was, for the branches on either side had closed over 
it. Then she stopped short, for a moment unable 
to move. For there, lying in the long grass under 
the fruit trees, with the moonlight streaming down 
on a still, rigid white face, lay the body of a man. 


156 


A TEBRIBLE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

A NEAV HOKROR. 

Pamela stood motionless, as if frozen with horror, 
staring at the body which lay at her feet. Although 
the man was lying with his face to the ground, she 
knew who he was, and the knowledge was perhaps 
more terrible than if he had been a dear friend. For 
grief at the death of a friend may be mingled with 
softer feelings, while the death of an enemy, brought 
home to one with a sudden shock, rouses feelings 
of horror and bitterness mingled with something 
like remorse. “Here lies the man dead whom I 
hated, perhaps unjustly hated,” says Conscience. 
“And just or unjust my hatred has gone down 
with him into the silence, and wrong can never be 
set right for him and me.” 

This thought shot like a dart into Pamela’s mind 
as she fell slowly on her knees beside the body, and 
touched him with a shudder and a sense* of shrink- 
ing awe. 

For it was Dick St. Rhadegund who lay silent and 
still in the long grass. Mastering her terror and 
repugnance, she raised his head, she succeeded in 
turning him, so that the moonlight came between 
the branches of the trees on his face. She could not 
doubt that he was dead, for the coldness of his hands 


A HORBOE. 


157 


and face seemed to her limited knowledge conclu- 
sive. When, however, she bent closer, she heard a 
slight sound of heavy, stertorous breathing which 
forced from her a cry of joy. 

Hastily divesting herself of her ulster, she placed 
it under his head, and laying him gently back, went 
in search of help. 

The people at the Red Farm were new-comers, 
and Pamela did not know them. But she had seen 
them at church, and knew that the husband was a 
man of about thirty years of age, with a pleasant- 
faced wife a little younger than himself. And she 
knew that their name was Finch. Crossing the or- 
chard quickly, she got into the farm-yard, and after 
in vain trying to rouse the inmates of the house 
from the back, she made her way down the out- 
buildings until she came to the front entrance, 
which was under a rustic porch . covered with trimly 
kept climbing roses and honeysuckle. The whole 
of the front was trim, and smart, and new, and 
spick and span, with a smartness which did not 
destroy the charm of mellow red brick, crow-stepped 
gables and white-framed windows ; a smartness 
which swept its carriage-drive, and mowed its lawn, 
and triinmed the great clumps of yew and of ivy that 
shut in the old place, and nestled right up to the 
eaves. 

Pamela knocked loudly. A window was thrown 
open. 

“ Who is it ? and what do you want at this time 
of the night?” said a man’s voice rather gruffly. 

‘‘ There’s a man lying in your orchard. J am afraid 


158 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


he is either dead or dying. I think he has been 
shot. Won’t yon please take him in?” 

By this time the pleasant-faced wife had joined 
her husband at the window. 

“ Oh, Henry,” she exclaimed, “ perhaps that is 
what Nelly saw when she ran into the house, just 
before her bed-time, and said a strange man called 
to her over the hedge and frightened her ! ” 

“ All right,” said he. “ W e’ll be down in a minute.” 

When Mr. Finch and a rough-looking man-servant, ! 
who was a cross between coachman and gardener, 
reached the orchard, they found Pamela supporting 
the strange man, and hanging over him in an agony 
of anxiety and, as they supposed, tenderness. 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Mr. Finch to his wife, who had 
run out after him in her dressing-gown, “ her brother, 
or else her sweetheart, I suppose.” 

As she heard the voices, Pamela looked up, with 
an expression which confirmed their innocent be- 
lief. 

“He’s not dead ! He is breathing, I can hear] 
him ! ” she cried in a quavering voice. | 

Mr. Finch knelt down and made a cursory ex- 1 
amination of the wounded man. 

“ Yes, he’s alive, but that’s about all you can say,” 
said he in a dubious voice. “ Look here.” 

And he showed a place at the side of the head 
where the hair was singed. 

“There’s a bullet in here somewhere,” said he. 
“And he must have another wound in his left arm, 
by the blood on this sleeve.” 

Pamela, on her knees on the other side of the un- 


A JV-EfV JIOBEOJL 


159 


conscious man, wrung lier hands silently, her face 
I contracted with agony. Then she sprang to her 
Teet. 

“ I must fetch a doctor, at once,” she said. “ You 
will take care of him, I know,” she went on be- 
seechingly. “You are good and kind. You will 
I take care of him.” 

“Yes, we’ll take care of him, never fear,” said 
' Mrs. Finch heartily ; “ shall we send the man for the 
doctor ? ” 

Pamela wrung the hand of this good-hearted new 
friend, as she shook her liead. 

“ No, I have my own horse here, at least, I mean 
his,” she said. “ I shall ride quicker than he will.” 

Mrs. Finch looked after the girl as she flew across 
the orchard to the gap in the hedge, and passed 
through it like an arrow. 

“Poor girl, poor girl ! ” she exclaimed sadly. 
“ I suppose he’s her brother, Henry, as she said the 
horse was hers, at least his ? ” 

“ Sweetheart or brother, it’s all up with the poor 
chap, I’m afraid ! ” returned her husband. “ Bring 
me a pair of scissors, and we’ll see what the damage 
to the arm is. Though that’s not the worst of the 
business, I think.” 

As he said, tiie wound to the arm was trifling 
compared with the injury to the head. For in the 
former case the bullet had passed through the 
fleshy part of the arm without going very deep, and 
the loss of blood had been by no means sufficient to 
reduce the poor fellow to the state in which he lay. 
By Mr. Finch’s orders, the gardener took a gate 


160 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


off its hinges ; upon this they laid the unconscious 
man, whom they carried carefully into the house, 
and placed on the sofa in the drawing-room. 

I^Iean while Pamela had unfastened her little mare, 
as she still' persisted in calling Pearl ; and feeling 
even at that moment some consolation in being 
again on the hack of her old favorite, she’ sprang 
on the little animars hack, regardless of the fact 
that she had no habit and that Pearl was saddled 
for a man ; she was a good and careless rider, and 
on Pearl’s hack she would have trusted herself 
without saddle or bridle. 

‘‘Now, Pearl, my little Pearl,” she said, in the 
fullest belief that the' mare could understand her, 
“ you’ve got to gallop to-night, my dear, as no' horse 
can gallop but you. It’s life and death, Pearl, to 
more than one of us ! ” 

Gallop, gallop over the hard road, thick with 
summer dust, went the mare. She seemed as fresh 
as if she had only just left the stable, and as glad 
to have her old mistress on her back again as 
Pamela was to be on her. Past the long orchard 
they went, under the elm trees. Past the hop gar- 
dens, with the young plants creeping up the forest of 
poles. Out into the moonlight between the hedge- 
less fields of green young rye and barley. Under 
the railway bridge, and into the shadow of tall trees- 
again. Past the young sapling which marks the 
spot where St. Augustine’s oak once spread its wide 
branches. 

And then for a moment Pamela drew rein. 

For she was coming to the wall which enclosed 


A NEW JlOliROE, 


161 


Mr. Isancson’s country seat, and its connection with 
' the horrors of the night made her pause. Here in 
i the wall was a gate which she had never before 
seen opened. Now it stood back, thrown wide on 
its hinges, so that by stooping she could see right 
into the flower-garden which surrounded the house. 
I This, then, she thought, if not the gate by which 
Edward had left the grounds, was certainly the one 
through which Mr. Isaacson had gone in pursuit 
; of him : and she concluded, from its being still open, 
that the master of the place had not yet returned. 
She wondered,- almost hoping that it was so, whether 
he had gone to her mother’s house. Ilis influence 
had always been so great with Edward that she 
thought even now it might be of some avail ; and 
, she knew that *f or the first time the Jew’s influence 
would now be for good. On she went, through a 
^ straggling village, up a hill crowned by a tree- 
j shaded farm-house, on between open fields swept by 
a breeze from the sea, until she reached Ryle- 
stone. 

Pamela loved Dr. Willoughby, and Dr. Willougliby 
i loved Pamela. Not that he was at any loss for 
■ objects on which to bestow his affection, since he 
was the father of a family of real English size, of 
handsome, bright-faced boys and girls in all stages 
i of budding manhood and womanhood. But he had 
j a heart large enough to take a few more in, and 
, Pamela held a foremost place in it. 

“Well, my dear, what’s the matter?” said he, 
when he had hurriedly dressed and come downstairs 
: in answer to her summons. 

11 


162 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


‘‘Oh, there’s more the matter than there has ever 
been before in the world, I think. Edward has gone 
out of his mind. I was coming for you to see hi’.n, 
to persuade mamma that he really is insane and not 
fit to be trusted, when I found on the road a man 
whom he has shot.” 

“ Good gracious ! Has he killed him ? ” 

“I don’t know,” answered Pamela, sobbing in 
spite of all her efforts. “ He was not dead when I 
came away, and you can save him if any one can. 
Come, oh, come at once ! ” 

Dr. Willoughby made her give him all the details 
she could as to the condition m which he was found, 
so that before starting he had a pretty good idea of 
what the nature of the mischief was. 

“We’ll do the best for him we cah, my dear, be 
sure of that,” said he kindly, patting her shoulder 
as she broke out, having finished her recital, into 
unrestrained weeping. 

“I think there’s a case of broken heart as well as 
broken head here, eh?” he asked gently. 

“ Oh, no, no. Dr. Willoughby, not that,” sobbed 
she. “ I didn’t like him ; he didn’t like me. We 
were always quarrelling,” — at this the doctor nodded 
with meaning, — “but he was the strongest and 
handsomest man in the neighborhood, and only 

twenty-seven ; and it seems so dreadful ” 

The doctor nodded, and hurried her out, having 
interpreted this denial in his own way, which was 
not such a bad way either. He got into his 
brougham, and Pamela re-mounted Pearl, and in a 
very short time they were both at the Red Farm, 


A NEW IlORBOB. 


163 


Dick was still alive ; that was the reassuring intel- 
ligence with which kind Mrs. Finch met them. But 
he had neither moved nor spoken : only the deep 
stertorous breathing had told them that he was not 
yet dead. When the doctor saw him, he was con- 
firmed in the belief that the case was a grave one. 
He bound up the wounded arm, and then proceeded 
to the more serious work. Having found the place 
where the bullet had entered the skull, he probed for 
the bullet, and found it, embedded in a portion of the 
skull which had been forced in, and was pressing on 
the brain. By a skillful operation he extracted the 
bullet, relieved the pressure on the brain, and speedily 
had the satisfaction of seeing his patient return to 
consciousness. 

When Pamela, who was waiting outside the door 
for the earliest tidings, heard the good news, she 
threatened to do what she had never done in her life, 
and what she was firmly of opinion no girl of the 
least sense or spirit ever did — faint away. Mrs. 
Finch saved her, with kind, sisterly arms support- 
ing the shaking girl. 

Dr. Willoughby himself was radiant. Nothing 
would convince him that Pamela was not desperately 
in love with this handsome young man ; and of 
course if Pamela was in love with him, it went with- 
out saying that he was in love with Pamela. He 
intimated his suspicions by a most significant look 
over the girl’s shoulder at Mrs. Finch. 

Now Pamela knew nothing of the expressive pan- 
tomime which was going on over her head ; for Mrs, 
Finch, being of the same opinion as the doctor, was 


164 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


giving expression to it by many knowing nods and 
smiles and gesticulations. 

The doctor took up his hat. 

“ Keep him perfectly quiet,” said he. “ I’ll be back 
within an hour to see how he’s getting on. If he 

insists on seeing ” and he nodded towards 

Pamela’s back, “ don’t let him talk.” 

It is disgraceful to have to own that Pamela, who 
had retired a few steps up the hall while she tried 
to calm her agitation, was too much overcome with 
the joy she felt on hearing that there was a chance 
of saving his life to have caught the sense of the 
doctor’s words. The closing of the. front door 
startled her. She turned round quickly as she heard 
the wheels on the gravel. 

“ Has the doctor gone ? ” she asked. 

“Yes, dear. He will be back in an hour,” she 
said. 

“ Has he gone to my home ? Or to fetch old Mr. 
St. Rhadegund?” 

“ He didn’t say.” 

Pamela looked thoughtful. 

“ I ought to fetch his father, if the doctor hasn’t 
gone there,” she said. “ But if he has, I should like 
to stay, if you will let me, till he comes.” 

Mrs. Finch laughed softly, and put her hand on 
the girl’s shoulder. 

“ ^Ye won’t drive you away, be sure of that,” she 
said. “ Would you like to see him? ” 

“ Oh, may I?” 

“Yes, if you’ll be very quiet. Wait a minute; 
I’ll tell him you’re coming.” 


A JY£;}V IIOBROR. 


165 


Pamela would have prevented her, but with a nod 
and a smile Mrs. Finch went into the room. In a 
few minutes she came out again, and signed to the 
girl that she might enter. 

Pamela went softly into the old-fashioned room, 
which Imd been the cosiest apartment imaginable in 
the time of the last occupiers of the Red Farm, but 
which had been partly spoilt by the new-comers, who, 
while buying the old, solid-looking furniture, had 
added some of the spindle-legged sort among their 
“modern improvements.” 

On a big sofa, which had been part of the late 
tenant’s furniture, lay Dick St. Rhadegund with his 
eyes closed. The room was lighted only by a shaded 
lamp placed on a table behind him, so that the light 
did not fall on his face. Pamela came softly up to 
the sofa, but received a little shock on noticing how 
deathly pale he was, and that his head was enveloped 
in bandages. For a few moments she stood perfectly 
still, gazing intently at his face, more troubled by 
his absolute stillness and by his ghastly appearance 
than reassured by the doctor’s hopeful words. At 
last her fears grew so strong that she came close to 
him, and dropping very softly on her knees as the 
most noiseless way of bringing her ear close to his 
face, she listened to find out whether he was breath- 
ing. 

Suddenly a very feeble whisper startled her. 

“ Yes, I’m alive,” said the whisper close in her ear. 

“ Thank God ! ” whispered Pamela back. 

And a tear, welling up suddenly, fell on his face 
as she drew her head back. 


166 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


Dick smiled very faintly. 

“ They think you’re my sweetheart,” he said, 
not so much speaking the words as forming them 
with liis lips, so that she had to listen and watch ^ 
very closely to make them out. I 

“ I don’t care what they think, so long as you get ! 
well,” said Pamela impulsively. i 

Dick slightly raised his eyebrows. Pamela, who | 
had not risen from her knees, now attempted to do i 
so. Dick opened his eyes. 

“Don’t go.” I 

So she stayed where she was, on her knees beside 
him, with her hands folded in her lap, looking down, 
and silently praying for his recovery. But at last a 
sense of the desperate case in which this strong young 
man lay grew so strong within her that she could 
not help the tears falling silently upon her folded 
hands. 

“I shall be all right,” whispered he. 

She looked up quickly, her pretty face blurred 
with crying, which, however, gave her a wonderful 
additional charm in Dick’s eyes at that moment. 

“Sh — sh!” said she. “You mustn’t talk, you 
know. Please don’t,” she whispered most tenderly, 
touching the hand nearest to her, which hung limp 
from the wounded arm. 

Dick’s fingers closed feebly on hers, and she left 
her hand in his with a sudden sensation which she 
could not define, but which, as she told Jane after- 
wards, was like a pain at her heart. 

“ Only this,” murmured Dick, “ I didn’t — hurt — 
the mare ! ” 


A IipUBOll. 


167 


“ I hioio you didn’t.” - 

Until that moment Pamela had never doubted 
that lie had ill-treated Pearl ; and yet she now felt 
just as certain that he had not. Pamela was a 
bright,. clever girl; but she was not logical. She 
jumped to conclusions, sometimes wrong and some- 
times right ; and this last conclusion happened to be 
a right one. 

There was a long silence, during which Pamela 
still sat on the floor with her hand on his, glancing 
from time to time anxiously at his face. And when- 
ever she glanced, she found his eyes flxed upon her. 
At length she began to And this steady gaze rather 
embarrassing. It was not like the look of a man for 
whom the world is over. ' She took her hand away 
and rose from the ground. 

“ I must go,” she said, “ and bring your father.” 

But at this Dick showed signs of sudden agita- 
tion. 

“No,” he murmured. “He will be angry, and 
rough.” 

“ I don’t care. I shouldn’t think much of him if 
he were not angry. I shall ask, beg — his forgive- 
ness.” 

Her voice dropped, and her head sank. 

“You know — who did it?” said Dick. 

Pamela moved her head in assent without speak- 
ing. She knew by Dick’s tone that he had seen who 
his assailant was. 

“ lie is mad, you know,” she said, in tones of the 
deepest humiliation and distress. “But you can 
never forgive us, of course.” 


168 


A TEBUIBLE FAMILY. 


“ 1 will,” whispered Dick. “ On condition ” 

He stopped, and Pamela bent her head to hear. 

“That you will be — my ‘sweetheart’ till I get 
well.” 

Again he felt Pamela’s tears upon his face. 

“ Don’t cry,” said he. “ Perhaps it won’t be long. 
I mean — I mean,” he went on as her tears flowed 
faster, “ I will get well soon.” 

“ Pray Heaven you may ! ” sobbed Pamela. 

“ Kiss me, then, sweetheart.” 

Pamela kissed him on the forehead. She saw the 
flrst tinge of color come into his face as, raising her 
own, which was flushed a deep red from her chin to 
her hair, she whispered : 

“ Good-bye, good-night.” 

And gently pressing his hand with hers, she fled 
away quickly from the room. 


MOBE MISCHIEF. 


169 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MORE MISCHIEF. 

Xow Pamela might have gone hack in the 
cart, but she could not resist the temptation of 
another ride on Pearl. So she mounted the mare, 
when she had taken grateful leave of Mrs. Finch, 
and started for St. Domneva’s Priory. She went 
by the high-road, not the lanes and by-ways by 
which she had come. She was almost in darkness 
all the way, for a thick border of elms on each side 
of the road shut out the moonlight. The girl was 
excited, certainly, and girls, in times of excitement, 
are apt to be fanciful : she told herself so half a 
dozen times as she cantered along under the trees. 
She was overstrung, not herself at all, so she said 
to herself more and more emphatically, as she felt a 
light breeze fanning lier face and caught the first 
glimmer of the breaking day over the distant 
fields. 

“ The night elves and the pixies are still about, I 
suppose,” she murmured half aloud, trying to laugh 
off nervous fears. 

For, nearer and nearer, during the last five min- 
utes, she had seemed to hear a mocking laugh away 
to the right, where the view of the open fields was 


m 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


entirely shut out by the forest of poles of a hop-gar- 
den. As the words passed her lips, the wild laugh 
sounded again, and seemed to echo in the woods 
round Salternes. Involuntarily she checked the 
mare and listened ; and then she fancied she heard 
the gallop of a horse’s hoofs dying away in the dis- 
tance, and a still fainter outburst of the wild, mock- 
ing laughter. Pamela shuddered, and made Pearl 
change her canter to a gallop. When she reached 
St. Domneva’s, and found the gate of the stable- 
yard locked, she led the mare round to the front of 
the house and tied the reins to the railings. For 
there was no drive through the Priory garden, only 
a neat little foot-path cut through the velvety lawn 
up to the front door. Pamela ran up the path, and 
made the great house-bell clang loudly. Before its 
echoes had died away, old Mr. St. Rhadegund, in 
his riding-dress, opened the door. 

Ilis other sons had laughed at him for troubling 
his head about Dick’s non-returning ; but the old 
gentleman had not been able to make up his mind 
to go to bed in his absence. When he saw Pamela 
the look of relief on his face gave place to one of 
great anxiety. 

“ My boy ! My son Dick ! ” was all the old man 
could say. 

Pamela, who had been trying to herself all sorts 
of ways of breaking the news to him, broke down 
under the terrible anxiety in the father’s eyes. Her 
tears burst forth again as she whispered : 

“ Oh, he is not dead ” 

His face changed. In the yellow light of the lamp 


MOItB MISCHIEF. 


171 


he held, it seemed to her to become suddenly gray, 
and pinched, and withered. 

“ Not — dead ! ” 

“ But he is hurt — very badly hurt. He has been 
shot. He is at the Red Farm three miles off. I 
have just come from there to tell you. The doctor 
has been with him, and is going back again.” 

Mr. St. Rhadegund’s face had undergone several 
changes during this brief recital. The expression 
of his face, at first betraying anguish only, passed 
through successive stages of bewilderment, suspi- 
cion, and finally anger so fierce that Pamela quailed 
before it. 

“ My son Dick has never harmed man, woman, 
child, or beast. Who has done this ? What devil 
has done it ? ” 

“ Sir,” she faltered, “ I think I know. But I dare 
not tell you.” 

Before he could answer, Pamela saw his three 
younger sons coming down the stairs. But when 
they heard the tones of their father’s voice, they all 
three kept in the background and listened. The 
old man laughed harshly, if he could be said to 
laugh, when the sounds he uttered expressed only 
anguish. 

“ Oh, I know. It only wanted that. I ’ave been 
annoyed, insulted, treated as if I was dirt, by your 
stuck-up family ; my fine boys ’ave been looked down 
on by you miserable girls, and abused by your cur 
of a brother. An’ now you’ve killed ’im. Ah ! I 
know, killed ’im. My boy that was worth the whole 
pack of you twice over.” He turned sharply on his 


172 


A TElilUBLE FAMILY. 


heel, and left her at the door, and she heard him 
mutter to himself as he went through the house to 
the door which led to the stables : “ It on’y wanted 
that ! It on’y wanted that ! ” 

Jim came up to Pamela and held out his hand. 

“ We know it isn’t your fault. Miss Pamela,” said 
he, while little Bob, openly blubbering, and Tom 
with a face of sullen anger, came closer to hear what 
had happened to their brother. 

“Will you tell us about it?” . 

She gave them a short account, owning with the 
deepest humiliation and distress, her fear that it was 
her own brother who had done the mischief. Jim 
nodded sympathetically. 

“You know. Miss Pamela,” said he gently, “he’s 
been off his head some time, and — well, and ought 
to have been looked after. I^oor old Dick said so 
himself only yesterday.” 

“ I know. But my mother wouldn’t hear of it — ” 
began she, when suddenly the voice of old Mr. St. 
Phadegund, in tones which rang through the house, 
startled them and made them all turn. 

“ Who’s had Ah Sin to-day? ” 

Tom answered at once : 

“No one, father, he’s been in the stable all 
day.” 

“He isn’t in there now, though,” cried Mr. St. 
Rhadegund, appearing among them with his stable 
key in his hand. “ The loose-box is empty. He’s 
been stolen.” 

“ Oh, no,” cried Jim reassuringly, “ he’s been put 
somewhere else.” 


MOBE MISCHIEF. 173 

“ Come and see for yourself,” returned his father 
laconically. 

And the hoys swept off with him to the stables, 
while Pamela, who had taken small note of this 
lesser misfortune in the grief from which she was 
suffering, just shook hands with Jim, told him that 
she had left Pearl at the gate, and with a last caress 
to her old favorite as she passed out of the Priory 
gate, started to walk back to the Red Farm. 

Her misery was more acute than before. Mr. St. 
Rhadegund’s just anger had shown her the mis- 
fortune in a new and a more terrible light. If Dick 
St. Rhadegund were to die — the awful thought caused 
her an indescribable pang of anguish — Edward would 
be a murderer. And Mr. St. Rhadegund would never 
rest until he had brought him to justice. There 
would be the awful ordeal of a public trial, and 
even if he escaped the death sentence, Edward would 
have cast upon his family a reproach and a scandal 
from which they could never be clear again. This 
thought, terrible as it was, was soon lost in the 
miserable anxiety she felt for Dick himself. 

As she trudged back along the dusty road towards 
the Red Farm, a shiver passed over her, as she again 
heard the distant gallop of horses behind her. This 
time, however, it was only Mr. St. Rhadegund and 
his son Jim, whom she could see some time before 
they came up with her ; foPdaylight was now grow- 
ing stronger. Jim raised his hat ceremoniously in 
passing, but his father rode by without a sign. 
Pamela, bruised at heart, and weary of limb, found 
Jim’s salutation more cutting than the old man’s 


174 


A TEUlilBLE FAMILT. 


neglect. There seemed to her fancy to be a coldness 
in the action of the impulsive, impetuous young 
fellow, which wounded her own sensitive, passionate 
nature to the quick. After all, had she not done her 
best to remedy the harm caused by her insane 
brother? Was she not suffering even more bitterly 
than they could suffer ? 

When she got to the Red Farm, she lifted the 
latch of the gate as softly as she could, slipped in- 
side the garden, and hung about in the shadow of 
the yew trees waiting until Mr. St. Rhadegund 
should come out of the house. Pamela was a brave 
girl, but she could not risk meeting that angry father 
again. So she stood watching the dawn as it spread 
itself over the wide fields of the marsh land, and 
when she heard the front door open she slunk away 
among the evergreens like a thief. 

Peeping out, Pamela felt any faint resentment she 
may have harbored against the sorrowing father 
melt away, as the white light of the dawn showed 
her a man broken down by his grief, a man whom 
a short hour of suffering had changed from a hale, 
hearty, young-looking man, to one twenty years 
older, lined, bent and aged. 

“ He can’t get over it ! My boy, my Dick ! she 
heard him whisper to Jim as they came out. Then, 
raising his head with a fresh outburst of ferocious 
anger, she heard him say: “An’ now, Jim, we go 

straight for the as did it. He shall hang for 

this, sure as my name’s Jack St. Rhadegund ! ” 

Jim only grunted in answer as they went out 
through the gate and mounted their horses. 


MORE MISCHIEF. 


175 


Pamela guessed that they would go straight to 
her mother's, and she wanted to make haste home 
to give what help she could to her mother and Jane 
in the battle which she foresaw must take place : hut 
she could not go without finding out if Dick St. 
Rhadegund was any worse. The front door was 
ajar, and Mr. and Mrs. Finch were talking inside. 
They started when they saw Pamela. 

“ Is he any worse ? ” she asked anxiously. 

“Just about the same, dear,” said the lady, with 
even more kindness than before in her tone. So it 
seemed to Pamela, and it roused her suspicions. 

“ You are swe he is no worse ? ” said she earnestly. 
“ Let me see, oh, do let me see him ! ” 

She was pressing on towards the door of the 
drawing-room, when Mr. Finch gently interposed. 

“We had better tell you ” he began. 

But his wife said quickly : “ Sh — ^sh, dear, not 
now,” laying her hand on her husband’s arm. 

For one moment Pamela swayed backwards and 
forwards, overcome with despair, for she never 
doubted that Dick was dead. Then, overcome with 
grief and physical fatigue, she fell in a heap on the 
floor. She had really fainted this time. When she 
came to herself Mr. Finch and his wife vied with 
each other who should reassure her first. 

“ It’s all right, dear. He is alive, I tell you he is 
alive,” said the wife. 

“ Then why would you not let me see him,” asked 
Pamela faintly. 

Mr. Finch replied this time : 

“ Well, because his father made us swear that 


176 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


neither you nor any of your family should go near 
him.” 

“ We couldn’t help ourselves,” hastily added the 
wife. “ He threatened to take his son away at once, 
just as he was, whether it killed liim or not, unless 
we xDromised.” 

Pamela, who was now on her feet again, drew 
herself uj). 

“ There will be no need to use it as far as T am con- 
cerned,” she said, proudly. She was turning to leave 
the house without another word when, remember- 
ing their kindness to her, she turned back and with 
a wintry smile offered a hand to each of them. “ I 
forgot that I am not quarreling with you,” she 
said. “ I thank you both most heartily for your 
kindness to me, and to him. I Icnoio you will take 
care of him ! ” she added wistfully as she went out 
of the house. 

She jumped into the i)ony-cart and went by the 
short cut back home. Mr. St. Rhadegund, having 
been detained by his younger sons to answer ques- 
tions about Dick, did not reach Mrs. IIoad-Rlean’s 
house until just as Pamela was entering. Jane was 
waiting for her sister at the door. 

“Oh, Pamela, Pm so glad you’ve come,” cried 
she. “Doctor Willoughby has been here ever so 
long, talking to mamma in the drawing-room. 
Mamma Avouldn’t let me come in, and she won’t let the 
doctor see Edward, and she keex)s crying and going 
into hysterics, and ” 

The words died away on her lips, as Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund strode up to tlie door, Jane had heard noth- 


MORE MISCHIEF. 


177 


ing about Edward’s- attack on Dick, so she was 
utterly at a loss to understand the harshness of the 
old man’s expression. 

“ I want to see your mother,” he said, shortly, 

“ Mamma will he very glad to see you to-morrow, 
I am sure,” said Jane suavely, “ but it is impossible 
to-night ” 

“ No,” interrupted the old man sullenly, “ she 
won’t be glad to see me to-morrow, nor any time. 
But she’s got to see me to-night. Which room is 
she in ? ” he asked roughly. 

Jane glanced at Pamela, who nodded assent. She 
knew it was of no use to try to stop this determined 
man, and she thought it was better that he should 
see her mother in the presence of Doctor Willough- 
l)y, whose kindness and common-sense might soften 
the hard man and help the poor lady. 

Jane silently opened the door of the drawing-room. 
As he left the door open, passing in with a heavy 
tread, Jane and. Pamela could hear what passed. 

“It’s you I want to see, ma’am,” said Mr. St. 
Phadegund, to Mrs. IIoad-Blean, as he stopped and 
stood upright in the middle of the room. “ Who’s 
this?” he asked abruptly, looking Doctor Willough- 
by full in the face with the eye of a man used to 
measure at a glance the persons with whom he had 
to deal. 

In a faint voice Mrs. lIoad-Blean, who had, by a 
wonderful instinct of danger recovered all her com- 
posure on her tenant’s entrance, introduced them 
to each other. 

“ A doctor ! ” said Mr. St, Phadegund solemnly^ 

12 


178 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY, 


“ I’m glad of that. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell this 
good lady, sir, whether or no a man as runs amuck 
with a loaded revolver, and shoots a man down on 
the ’igh-road, is sane enough to be left at large.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean listened very intently to his 
words, as she sat with folded hands, tightly pressed 
lips, and a scarlet spot burning in the center of each 
cheek. 

“ This is rather a sudden plunge into a story,” 
she said, keeping quite calm with an effort. “ Per- 
haps you will explain.” 

He turned upon her savagely, his blunt earnest- 
ness seeming to shrivel up her poor little affecta- 
tions of ignorance. 

“ I mean, ma’am, as your cur of a son ’as shot 
down my eldest boy, my son Dick, nigh to the Red 
Farm yonder, leavin’ ’im for dead. And I mean 
as ’ow I won’t ’ave your son sent away on the 
quiet, an’ I’ve come ’ere at once to let you know. 
Either you shuts ’ im up at once as a lunatic in er 
asylum, or I ’as him arrested for attempted murder. 
An’ it’ll be murder outright before morning, most 
likely. Now, then, which is it to be ? ” 

“ Really, Mr. St. Rhadegund, you come to your 
conclusions rather hastily, you find your son shot, 
you say, and you instantly come to the conclusion 
that it is my son who did it ! Surely that is rather 
hasty ! ” 

“No more palaver, ma’am,” said he shortly. “If 
you deny as your son’s mad, why did you lock him 
up when he came ’ome to-night ?” 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean replied very coolly ; 


MORE MISCHIEF, 179 

“Why did I? Well, as a matter of fact, I have 
not done so.” 

Doctor Willoughby glanced at the lady dubi- 
ously. She had owned to him that her son was 
locked in the dining-room, but had implored the 
doctor not to disturb him that night. The girls, 
too, exchanged glances of astonishment. 

“ You deny that your son is locked up in this 
house ! ” laughed Mr. St. Rhadegund mockingly. 
“Well, ma’am, then I tell you this : unless you open 
the door of that room at the back where the iron 
shutter is — you see I know all about it — I’ll send 
my son Jim that’s waiting outside to fetch the con- 
stable to arrest ’^im for attempted murder.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean flinched at the words. She cast 
a sidelong look at the rigid old man, a look of ap- 
prehension ; then she slowly rose from her chair, 
and producing a key from her pocket with a trem- 
bling hand, crossed the room and, followed by all the 
others, went down the ]3assage to the dining-room. 

All four of her companions were in a state of the 
most intense excitement. What would the old man 
do, enraged as he was, when he came face to face 
with the man, who had struck his son down ? What 
would the mother do, compelled to see this meet- 
ing ? Above all, what would Edward, mad as they 
all knew him to be, do when he found himself sud- 
denly confronted with another member of the family 
whom he hated ? 

For one moment the mother’s hand faltered, so 
that she found it difficult to fit the key in the lock. 
When at last it turned, and the door slowly opened. 


180 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


Mr. St. Rhadegund, unable to restrain his impa- 
tience, pushed past her and rushed into the room. 
The shutter was intact, there was no other exit ex- 
cept by the door they had just seen unlocked. 

But Edward was not there. 


THE ESCAPE, 


181 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE ESCAPE. 

Mr. St. Riiadegund hardly gave himself the trou- 
ble of searching the dining-room : for a glance at 
]\[rs. Hoad-Blean’s face, though she kept her eyes 
down, revealed to him the fact that she had not 
only assisted her son to escape, but that she had 
made all the delay possible in opening the door, 
in order to give him a chance of getting further 
away. 

Doctor 'Willoughby looked at the lady with some- 
thing like admiration. For the past hour she had 
been fencing with him, putting obstacles in the way 
of his seeing her son, when all the while he was not 
there to see. 

The girls exchanged anxious glances. Both felt 
sure that Mr. St. Rhadegund was a dangerous man 
to defy. 

The old Colonist gave a hard laugh. 

“ Very good, ma’am, very good,” he said. “ You’ve 
played us a smart trick enough, but I know a smarter. 
He is not a loonatic, your son, you say ? Well, then, 
’e ’s a criminal. So I’ll ’ave a warrant out again ’ini 
by sunrise.” 

Mrs, Hoad-Blean, very pale, kept her eyes on the 


182 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


ground and said nothing. Mr. St. Rhadegund had 
turned to go away, when suddenly a thought struck 
him which caused him to stop short with a little 
chuckle of triumph. 

“ By tlie hy, ma’am, I don’t think it will he quite 
so difficult to trace your son as you imagine, for 
one of my horses was stolen a few hours ago, and I 
have a. very good idea who the thief was. And a 
man and a horse, you know, can he tracked better 
than a man without a horse.” 

This speech made all the ladies uneasy. As Mr. 
St. Rhadegund stalked out of the house, Doctor 
Willoughby i^repared to take his leave. 

“ Are you going to see him ? ” asked Pamela softly. 
The doctor answered in the affirmative. Pamela 
looked wistful, and another question trembled upon 
her lips. She did not utter it, however, but only 
shook hands rather shyly. 

“No message?” said the doctor, raising his eye- 
brows. 

“No,” said Pamela in a very sad voice as she 
turned away. 

When the doctor had gone, the girls were rather 
afraid of a scene with their mother, Pamela in par- 
ticular expecting to be scolded for having expressed 
a belief that it was Edward who had shot Dick St. 
Rhadegund. But Mrs. IIoad-Blean went straight up 
to her own room Avithuut a word to either of her 
daughters; and they, both too heavy-hearted and 
too tired out for much conversation together, only 
exchanged a few words on the stairs before they 
separated for the night. 


THE ESCAPE. 


183 

“Do you think it’s true tliat he’s taken the 
horse?” asked Jane, 

“ It seems likely,” said Pamela. “ And I hope it is 
true. For mamma is sure to have given him money, 
so that he could ride to Dover or Folkestone, and 
take his passage for France early to-morrow morning ; 
and as he is clever and cunning enough in his way, 
I think that .start ought to be enough for him.” 

The girls hade each other good-night at the head 
of the stair-case, and retired each to her own little 
room. Worn out with fatigue and distress, in a few 
minutes Pamela was in bed. She had put the light 
out and closed her eyes, though the tears were still 
trickling down her cheeks, when she was roused by 
hearing the handle of the door turned. She heard 
loud, panting breath. 

“ Who is it ? Who is it ? ” she cried as she sprang 
up. 

Jane’s voice answered, moaning : 

“Oh! Pamela, Pamela, there’s more trouble to 
come. Edward’s taken the revolver ! ” 

Pamela struck a light at once, her face reflecting 
the anxiety she saw in her sister’s. 

“ Are you sure ? ” 

“ Quite sure. When I picked it up from the dining- 
room floor, I brought it straight u|) here, and put 
it into my left-hand drawer under my lace handker- 
chiefs. You can come and see for yourself.” 

Pamela did go to see for herself, and truly enough 
the revolver was not there. 

The matter seemed even more grave to Pamela 
than it did to Jane. 


184 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


“ For,” she said, “ the fact of his coming upstairs 
to hunt for it when every moment was precious for 
his escape, shows that he has vindictive feelings 
still. He thinks he has paid oft’ Jim St. Rhadegund, 
hut he said himself that he owed a debt to you and 
to Mr. Isaacson. You must be on your guard, and 
so must he.” 

The two poor girls were so terror-struck that they 
decided they dare not sleep alone. For they had a 
very cunning antagonist to deal with in their 
brother, and their foolish mother was bringing her 
feminine astuteness to his aid. For it was she Avho 
had sent Jane to the top of the house under tlie pre- 
tence that she heard the servants calling out of their 
windows ; and the girls had little doubt that it was 
while her daughter was away on this errand, with 
directions to quiet the maids, that Mrs. IIoad-Blean 
had unlocked the dining-room door and set her 
mischievous son at liberty. 

The girls, after bidding each other good-night, lay 
awake a long time. 

“ Pamela ! ” cried Jane presently, “ you are crying.” 

A sob was the answer. Then there was a long 
pause. 

“ Pamela ! ” cried her sister again, “ one would 
think you were in love with Dick St. Rhadegund.” 

, No answer at all this time. Jane heaved a long 
sigh. 

“ Well, never mind,” said Jane. 

“ But you know, dear, you were always much more 
bitter against them than I was ! ” 

Next day they heard that a warrant had been 


TBE ESCAPE. 


185 


issued for Edward’s’ arrest. The day wore on 
heavily for all the ladies : every sound in the street 
outside they took for the steps of a messenger come to 
announce his arrest. But night came and they had 
heard nothing, not even a word concerning Dick. 
Pamela did not dare go to the Red Farm again, 
did not dare send to the Priory to make inquiries. 
She was utterly miserable, and there was no one to 
comfort her, for Jane was oppressed by trouble of 
her own. She had seen Jim in the distance when 
she was out walking ; and although she was sure he 
had seen her, he followed his father into the Priory 
stables instead of coming to meet her. 

On the second day a most unexpected arrival dis- 
turbed the household at an early hour. It was Cap- 
tain Hoad-Blean himself, who had heard of his son’s 
escapade from Isaacson. He was not greeted with 
so hearty a welcome as he had been accustomed to 
receive from his two eldest daughters. Jane’s visit 
to him in London had opened her eyes to a new view 
of the fascinating father, while Pamela had confessed 
to her sister that she had had increasing doubts con- 
cerning him. Only the twins hailed his unexpected 
visit with their old enthusiasm. 

The very first speech he made on the subject of 
Edward estranged him more from his wife than ever, 
if that were possible. 

“ Well,” he said when, unable to obtain the whis- 
key and soda he had asked for, he was contenting 
himself with a glass of sherry, “ I suppose you’ve 
heard nothing more of our young hopeful, my 
dear ? ” 


18G 


A TEimiBLE FAMILY. 


“ I have heard nothing of Edward,” faltered Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean, with a change of expression which 
might have warned him not to strain still further 
what sense she still retained of wifely duty towards 
him. 

“ And you are not likely to hear anything now, I 
imagine. I always thought he had a tile loose, but 
he’s got quite sense enough to keep out of the way 
when there’s a warrant out for him. I think we 
may both he congratulated, my dear. He’s been the 
worry of my life in tomi, with the scrapes he got 
into and the troop of creditors he always had after 
him; and now that you’ve had a turn, and that his 
conduct down here has been more outrageous still, 
I’m sure you must be heartily glad to be rid of him.” 

‘‘Indeed, Marcus, you’re mistaken. I am by no 
means glad to be rid, as you call it, of my only son.” 

Captain Hoad-Blean, who hated a “ scene ” rose at 
once with a slight yawn. 

“Very pretty sentiments from a mother’s lips, 
very pretty, and very right. But I’m sure, my dear, 
you will see, upon reflection, that it is better for 
him, if not for you, that he should not show his face 
here again. What time do you have luncheon ? ” 

“At two o’clock usually; but of course we can 
have it at any time you prefer.” 

“ Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t interfere with your 
arrangements for the world. This is only a flying 
visit on my part, and I can fall in with your hours 
whatever they are. I think I’ll take Olive and Myrtle 
for a little walk : there will be just time before 
luncheon, won’t there ? ” 


THE ESCAPE. 


187 


Mrs. Hoad-Blean assented with some reluctance, 
as the twins ran joyfully away to prepare for this 
great treat, a walk with papa. It was easy to guess 
that Captain IIoad-Blean’s object was to pump his 
little daughters on such points of the family history 
as he might wish to know. She could not descend 
so low as to put the children on their guard against 
their father, eyen if they had not both been his warm 
partizans. 

He returned home to luncheon in high good-humor, 
and during the course of the meal informed Jane 
that he proposed to call with her at St. Domneva’s 
Priory that afternoon. 

“There is no sense in remaining on bad terms 
with one’s neighbors, especially neighbors who are 
one’s tenants,” he said, with that easy decision of 
manner which seemed to give weight to all his 
utterances. “These St. Phadegunds have not, I 
think, received fair treatment from the beginning, 
and they certainly have the strongest reason to 
resent Edward’s behavior. Why, the eldest son 
is not out of danger yet, is he ? ” 

The whole family were aghast at his proposal, 
while his reference to Dick made poor Pamela shiver 
with sudden pain. 

“ We cannot learn anything about him,” said Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean coldly. “ But as we deny that Edward 
was the person who shot Richard St. Rhadegund, and 
as his father has, in spite of that, taken out a warrant 
against him, it would be most improper for us to 
make any advances.” 

“ I, on the other hand, think it would be most 


188 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


proper for us to do so. Nobody with brains in his 
head eould doubt that it was that fool Edward who 
shot the man, and it is our duty to make civil 
inquiries.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean said no more ; but when, about 
an hour after luncheon, Captain IIoad-Blean directed 
Jane to put on her hat, she ventured to come over to 
him and to lean on his chair, with her lips very near 
his ear. 

“ Papa,” she whispered, “ don’t go to the Priory. 
We shall be insulted. This old man is very bitter 
against us.” 

“Rubbish, my dear. You will not be insulted 
while 7 am with you.” 

When they were on their way, poor Jane very 
miserable, her father light-hearted as ever, he went 
a little further in his comments. 

“Your mother, my dear Jane, is the most esti- 
mable woman I have ever known, but she has not 
what I call a conciliatory manner. Instead of making 
the best of these people, and rendering them valuable 
acquaintances, she has encouraged, or at any rate 
allowed you and that silly old Lady Constantia to 
wage a sort of war with them, which was in the 
highest degree impolitic and ridiculous. Now I 
understand that one of the sons, James, I think his 
name is, has paid you a good deal of attention, and 
that you seem to find him, on the other hand, very 
much to your taste.” ' 

“ Papa ! ” expostulated poor Jane. 

But her father put up his hand to stop her. 

“ Now, my dear, if this, is the case — and your dislike 


THE ESCAPE. 


189 


to Isaacson seems to point to there being some truth 
in the story, — what could be pleasanter than a 
match between you and one of the tenants of your 
old home ? ” 

“ There is everything against it, papa,” replied his 
daughter, with spirit which surju-ised him. “ You 
don’t understand the position we are all in to each 
other down here. Y'ou can’t see what an awful 
thing we are doing in going to the Priory at all. I 
tell you there is no talk of a match at all, and that 
I would not hear of such a thing. Papa, if you 
take me to the Priory, you will be sorry, very 
sorry.” 

Captain Hoad-Blean looked at his daughter with 
amazement. She was threatening, positively threat- 
ening. Entirely secure in his belief in his own 
powers, both of controlling his daughter and of con- 
ciliating the Priory boar, as he playfully called him, 
he insisted on carrying out his jdan, and treated as 
of no consequence the grave silence to which his 
daughter’s entreaties suddenly gave place. 

Arrived at the Priory, they were walking up the 
path to the house, when they both caught sight of a 
young fellow lying lazily in a hammock on the left, 
in the shadow of the ruinous part of the abbey 
building. By the tell-tale blush which rose suddenly 
to Jane’s face as she turned her eyes at once in the 
opposite direction, her father guessed who the young 
man was. 

“ Is that Mr. James St. Rhadegund?” he asked in 
his most genial tones. 

“ Yes, papa,” answered she below her breath. 


190 


A TElUllBLE FAMILY. 


Captain Hoad-Blean stopped at once, and con- 
templated Jim with a benevolent smile. 

“ A very nice-looking young fellow too ! JNIy dear, 
I approve of your taste. I must make liis acquaint- 
ance. Come, my dear, and introduce me.” 

Seeing that Jane made no movement in the direc- 
tion he wished, her father laid an imperious hand 
upon her arm. At that moment Jim, catching sight 
of Jane and guessing who her companion was, got 
out of his hammock and came towards them with 
a very red face. 

“ There is scarcely need for my daughter to in- 
troduce us, I think,” began Captain IIoad-Blean, 
holding out his hand. “ Still, she may do so as a 
matter of form.” 

He turned, — still holding out his hand to Jim, 
who took it at once, — to Jane. But she, profiting by 
her moment of liberty, had deliberately turned her 
back upon them, and was walking up to the house 
by herself. 


DICK'S SWEETUEABT, 


191 


CHAPTER XYI. 
dick’s sweetheart. 

Captain Hoad-Blean’s anger at his daughter’s 
open defiance of hi^ commands, knew no hounds. 
He joined her at the door of the house, shaking and 
stammering with rage. 

“ D-d-did you hear what I said ? D-d-d-did you 
understand me ? ” He almost gasped. 

“ Yes, papa,” was all Jane’s answer, as she met 
her father’s eyes quite firmly, though she was trem- 
bling from head to foot. 

“ Then you d-d-defy me ? Openly defy me and 
my authority as your father ? ” 

“ Xo, papa, I don’t do that. But you were doing 
something you would not have done if you had 
understood how things stand between us. It is 
impossible for me to meet him just now.” 

Her tone was humble enough ; it was even one of 
entreaty. Captain Hoad-Blean might have been 
touched by it, if he had not been one of those 
persons who are too much absorbed in pursuing 
what they think to be their own advantage to pay the 
smallest regard to the feelings of others. He was 
willing to look upon her beseeching tone as an 


192 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


apology, however, so he answered as if he were for- 
giving a grievous wrong. 

“ Well, well, my dear, I don’t want to be too severe, 
hut you may trust to me to put things right between 
you, and you must not interfere with my discre- 
tion.” 

Discretion ! The word seemed fo ring in irony in 
poor Jane’s ears as, the servant who came to the 
door having said, Yes, sir, in answer to Captain Hoad- 
Blean’s inquiry whether his master was at home, 
father and daughter found themselves traversing 
together the hall of their old home. Captain Iload- 
Blean had no sentimental regrets over the loss of the 
place, though he sometimes affected to have. He 
had always stigmatized it as a dull hole, and he 
never saw it without feeling a sentiment of relief 
that it was off his hands. Nevertheless, he thought 
proper to sigh as he glanced up the carved oak 
staircase and at the trophies of travel and of the 
chase on its walls ; and to say to Jane, in a tender 
voice, as he pointed to an arrangement of buffalo 
horns and Indian spears over one of the doors : 

“ They wake some old memories, those trophies, 
eh, Jane ? ” 

“ Not that one, papa,” answered Jane’s quiet 
voice. “Those buffalo horns belong to Mr. St. 
Rhadegund.” 

“ Oh, ah, yes,” answered her father, very little, if 
at all, disconcerted by his mistake. “ But I’m sure 
we had some horns, antlers or something, up in the 
hall. And here,” he went on, feeling himself on 
surer ground, as they were shown into the drawmg- 


DICK ’ S S WEETIIEA B T. 


198 


room where he remembered being bored to death on 
many a long evening, “ is the old room where your 
mother and I spent many happy hours.” 

Jane did not contradict him. She sat silently 
near one of the windows while her father walked 
about the room, patronized the old place, and made 
apologies for the new tenants. 

“ Odd, this fancy of 2^ci'>'ve?ius to get into decent 
houses ! One would fancy they would like brand- 
new red brick better, with a German tower at one 
end and a pagoda at the other. Very odd fancy ! 
But lucky for us poor devils of gentlemen. And it’s 
queer how they sometimes tumble on the right thing, 
too ! Somebody tells them, I suppose ! ” he con- 
tmued, as his attention was arrested by a clever 
bronze of a horse and his rider. At this point his 
tone underwent such an abrupt change that Jane 
knew, without looking round, that Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund had entered. All the mockery, and nearly all 
the patronage suddenly disappeared at the very next 
word. That word was : 

“ Ah ! ” and it spoke volumes. Jane could see, 
without looking, how her father’s hand went out in 
urbane friendliness towards the man whom he had 
been lightly sneering at. It made her shiver to 
know, still without looking, that the proffered hand 
was refused. 

‘‘ Mr. St. Rhadegund, we must be friends,” Jane 
heard her father say, in a wonderfully pleasant, per- 
suasive voice. 

There was a very short pause, and then a rougher 
voice said, without any affectation of geniality : 

13 


194 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“If you’re Captain ’Oad-Blean, I don’t see for 
why.” 

“Don’t yon ? Well, let me try to put it to you,” 
said the genial voice, as brightly as ever. “ You 
are a man, Mr. St. Rhadegund, of whom I’ve heard 
a great deal ” 

“ Aye, I daresay.” 

“And everything I’ve heard is to your advan- 
tage,” he went on, the slight touch of patronage 
in his tone a little more apparent, perhaps, than 
before. 

“ I wish I could say as much o’ you.” 

The tone of patronage disappeared altogether, 
and gave place to one in which mortification and 
anger struggled with assumed indifference : 

“I am not surprised that you should let your in- 
dignation at my son’s unworthy conduct affect your 
judgment of his father. I have come, in fact, to 
apologize for him, and to express my regret, not 
only at the mischief he has done your son, hut at 
the somewhat cool reception which my wife and 
her friends have given you in this neighborhood. 
I have remonstrated with her on the subject of her 
cold maimers to strangers scores of times. I am 
sure you know that the hearts of our English ladies 
are none the less warm for a slight coldness of man- 
ner, and I assure you she has felt for your son as 
much, or almost as much, as you can have done your- 
self. She begged me to make inquiries about him, 
and one of my daughters insisted on coming herself 
on the same errand.” 

To this speech Mr. St. Rhadegund at first replied 


DICK'S SWEETHEART. 


195 


with a particularly hard, unpleasant, incredulous 
laugh. Jane, looking round in terror, for she saw 
that there was something worse to come, and dreaded 
her father’s next words, saw that every trace of the 
man’s habitual good-humor had left his face, which 
was stern and hard, and square-looking, so that she 
wondered how her father could go on with a task 
so hopeless as the attempt to soften him. She 
likened the encounter, in her own mind, to a butter- 
fly playing about a rock. 

He answered at last in words which made Jane 
rise, hoping that he had not noticed her, and that 
the discovery of her presence might put some check 
on his harshness. 

“ I want no apologies and no inquiries. As for 
your wife’s manners, if you want them to be any 
different, you should live with her and look after 
her. I don’t mind them, or want them any different. 
What I want is for you an’ your family to let me 
and my family alone till we leave this place, which 
will be when I can take my son Dick away, dead 
or alive.” 

Jane cried out, unable to restrain her horror at 
the man’s tone, and at the almost despairing sugges- 
tion it implied. The old man turned upon her 
flercely : 

Aye, you may cry out ! You and your sister, 
after turning up your noses at my splendid boys, 
you may snivel and cry and pretend to be sorry 
now one of ’em’s dyin’— 

He broke off abruptly, afraid of the effect upon 
himself of his own emotion, Jane put her face in 


196 


A TEEBIBLE FAMILY, 


her hands and sobbed. Captain Hoad-Blean would 
still insist U]3on taking advantage of what looked 
like a favorable opening. 

“ My dear sir,” said he in a voice of passionate 
assurance, “ my girls are nearly broken-hearted over 
this unhappy affair. As we came up the garden we 
met one of your sons, a splendid young fellow, as 
you say. My daughter could not speak to him ” 

“Papa ! ” expostulated poor Jane, in an agony of 
shame. 

Mr. St. Rhadegund looked hard at the girl, and 
then turned abruptly to her father again. 

“ I’m sorry for your girls,” he said in a tone which, 
though hard, had a ring of remorse in it, “ I’m 
sorry to have to talk ’arsh to a girl. But I can’t 
help myself. There’s madness and something worse 
than madness in their family ; they don’t come of 
good stock ; an’ if I catch one of my boys talking to 
either of them again. I’ll send ’iin straight back to 
Colorado with just ’is passage money out and not a 
’alf penny besides.” 

At last Captain IIoad-Blean was really frightened. 
There was the decision of a practical man in old St. 
Rhadegund’s tones, and the idea of assisting one of 
his pretty daughters to marriage with an emigrant, 
with just a spade and red shirt to start house- 
keeping with, killed his sympathy at once, lie 
drew himself up, and shook with indignation as he 
answered : 

“My daughter Jane, Mr. St. Rhadegund, would 
have been forbidden by her fiance to come to this 
house at all, if he had known of her intention. You 


DICK 'S S] VEST HE A 11 T. 


197 


need not be afraid of having to send your sons 
away on her account or on that of either of her 
sisters.” 

Oh, how grateful Jane felt for the little spark of 
self-respect which her father at last allowed himself 
to show ! She walked across the room to him with 
the air of a queen, and put her hand through his 
arm to urge him to take leave immediately. Captain 
Hoad-Blean had by this lime had enough of Mr. 
St. Rhadegund’s society, so he made no resistance 
to his daughter’s wishes. AVith a very stiff bow, 
he said “ Good-morning ” ; and, accompanied by his 
daughter, who bowed without raising her head, he 
left the house. 

No sooner had he reached the gate, however, than 
his pleasant opinion of himself, bounding up again 
after the blow it had received, caused him to say : 

“ I think we had the best of him, Jane, my dear. 
I’m very glad we went. It’s just as well to let 
these beggars know sometimes what their superiors 
think of them ! ” 

“Yes, papa,” said poor Jane without further com- 
ment. 

She was utterly crushed by the humiliating scenes 
she had just gone through ; and when she reached 
home it was some time before she Avas sufficiently 
mistress of herself to give Pamela an account of 
their disastrous expedition. Pamela’s indignation 
set fire to her own. Admitting that their father had 
behaved, to say the least, unwisely, they both felt 
their pride roused by old Mr. St. Rhadegund’s insult- 
ing words concerning themselves. 


198 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ He shall see whether we are anxious for them to 
speak to us or not,” said Pamela. “ I only wish one 
of them would try to speak to us, so that he might 
eee how we will treat him. Now’ mind, Jane, don’t 
let your natural civility get the better of you : if 
that Jim should attempt to speak to you, you are to 
turn your back upon him without any answer, and 
be just as rude as I could be ! ” 

Jane, still stung by' the remembrance of the 
scene she had just witnessed, promised readily 
enough. 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean quite warmed to her husband, so 
strong w^as his indignation against old St. Rhade- 
gund, whom he described as “ the most insufferable 
cad he had ever met.” 

“ I did you injustice, my dear,” he w’ent on mag- 
nanimously. “ Of course it was out of the question 
for you to be on friendly terms with these iDeople : 
it would have been a humiliation to be anything but 
distant in your behavior to them.” 

Neither he nor Jane told her the particulars of the 
interview, but Mrs. IIoad-Blean knew her husband 
well enough to guess that he had not had the best 
of the encounter. This view was confirmed by his 
insisting on returning to town that very evening. 
They all saw him off by the seven o’clock train, and 
then had the satisfaction of cutting Jim and Tom 
St. Rhadegund dead outside the station on their 
return home. 

Tom, whose instincts, where his antipathies were 
aroused, were those of the untutored . savage, threw 
a fir-cone after them ; but Jim, though he went home 


DICJC S S ] I ^EETIIEA BT. 199 

whistling with his hands in his pockets, was cut to 
the heart. 

So was Jane. Pamela in vain tried to brace her 
up by applauding her spirit ; Jane, who said nothing, 
had to blink all the way home to keep the tears back. 
And tears came less easily with Jane than with 
Pamela. 

Pamela did not know how soon her own fortitude 
would be tried. 

' They had just finished dinner that evening when 
she was told that there w'as a boy outside who 
wanted to see “ Miss Pamela.” He had a note in his 
hand, the maid said, but he refused to give it up to 
any one but Miss Pamela herself. Pamela had her 
suspicions. She grew red, and then white, and at 
last asked : 

“What sort of a boy is he?” 

“ He looks like a farm-hand, ma’am. He has great 
hobnailed boots and ” 

“I’ll come,” she interrupted, “take him into the 
hall.” 

Jane, who had been near enough to overhear this 
colloquy, whispered : 

“ Do you think he comes from Edward ? ” 

Pamela shook her head, and escaping from her 
sister, left the room quickly. A shock-headed lad 
was waiting for her in the hall, who touched his 
forelock and asked, with a grin : 

“ Be you Miss Pameler ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then I wus to give you this.” 

“Who told you to bring it ? ” asked Pamela doubt- 


200 


A TEUniBLE FAMILY. 


fully, seeing that the direction outside the envelope 
was to “ Miss Pamela Blean, Salternes,” in an un- 
known feminine hand. 

“ The missus up at the Red Farm.” 

Pamela opened the envelope, and found a sheet of 
paper inside on which was written only these words : 

“ I want my sw^eetheart. — D ick.” 

“ There is no answer,” she said, in a trembling 
voice ; and the boy disappeared. 

She ran upstairs to put on her hat and cloak, and 
in little more than a minute was peeping inside the 
drawing-room door, beckoning to Jane. 

“I’m going to the Red Farm,” she whispered 
when her sister came out. “ I don’t want mamma to 
know until I’m gone, for she would make a fuss and 
try to stop me,” 

“ What ? After all you said to me, you’re going 
to see him ? ” 

“ I must.” 

She was too much agitated to be teased, so Jane 
kissed her and let her out very softly. 

Pamela ran as soon as she had turned the corner 
of the street and was out of sight of the cottages. 
There was a short cut to the Red Farm, a footpath 
over the fields, and this she took, running like a 
hare the greater part of the way. She thought, 
innocent girl that she was, that it was remorse at her 
brother’s conduct which made her so anxious to obey 
the behest of his victim, and that the fact of her 
having disliked Dick without due reason made her 


DICK ’ S S WIJETIIEART. 


201 


feel that she owed him some amends on her own ac- 
count. Her indulgence of the will of a sick man, she 
thought, could not be held to infringe the compact she 
had made with the rest of her family against the St. 
Rhadegunds in general ; she was very careful to put 
this to herself, and to arrive at an understanding 
with herself that she would not transgress the 'rules 
again. 

It was about eight o’clock, a bright June evening, 
and Pamela, when she reached the high-road, where 
the trees grew thickly, felt rather nervous ; for al- 
though a spirited and brave girl, ready to face any 
danger in time of necessity, she was unused to being 
out alone so late. However, she met no one except a 
farmer returning late from market in his cart, until 
she came to the corner by the Red Farm. The 
house was not yet in sight, being thickly surrounded 
with evergreen trees. She had turned to the right 
and was approaching the gate when heavy footsteps 
on the drive made her draw back. A moment later 
the gate was opened by old Mr. St. Rhadegund. 

There were trees on the opposite side of the road, 
and it was now growing dark, while Pamela had her 
back to the faint light in the west. So for the 
moment he did not recognize her, and she saw in his 
face nothing but deep anxiety. 

“ Are ye cornin’ in ?” he asked, as he held open the 
gate. 

“ Yes,” answered Pamela in a very low voice. 

At the sound of her voice the old man’s face 
changed, and coming through the gate himself he 
shut it and kept his back to it. 


202 


A TEURIBLE FAMILY. 


“You’re one o’ the Bleans, I see. What do you 
want here ? ” 

“ I have come to see your son. He has sent for 
me.” 

The old man frowned, and the hard lines came 
into his face. 

“ Whether he was fool enough to send for you or 
not, you don’t ^e ’im.” ^ 

Pamela fired up. 

“ I will, though,” she said with spirit. “ I’ll see 
him if I wait here all night.” 

Mr. St. Rhadegund was evidently taken aback by 
this opposition. 

“ Oh,” he said in a jeering tone after a moment’s . 
pause, “you’re running after ’im now, are you? I 
s’pose your father and sister didn’t tell you what 
I said to ’em ? ” 

“Yes, they did. But I don’t care. When your 
son gets well I shall hate him just as much as I do 
you. But it was I who found him, fetched the 
doctor for him, and perhaps saved his life, remember 
that. And while he’s ill I shall see him if he wants 
me to. Let me pass, please.” 

Mr. St. Rhadegund frowned still as he stared at 
her, and muttered something about “brazen impu- 
dence ” and “ cheek that licked creation.” But he 
did at last reluctantly edge away from the gate, and 
Pamela calmly opened it and went up to the house. 

When a servant opened the door to her and 
showed her into the dining-room, where Mrs. Finch 
was, Pamela’s hardihood had of course oozed away 
and left her so nerveless and shaken that the lady 


DlCK^S SWEETHJEART. 


203 


asked her at once if she had been frightened by 
some one. Knowing that she was with a good friend, 
Pamela gave her, as briefly as she could, the out- 
lines of the situation ; and both Mrs. Finch and her 
husband, who now came in, applauded her for 
making a stand with so much spirit. 

“And indeed, my dear,” added Mrs. Finch regret- 
fully, “ I am sorry to hear you hate the young fellow 
so ; for he is so nice that we’ve grown quite fond 
of him in these two days. And — and oh ! he 
seems so fond of you ! I asked him if you were en- 
gaged, and he shook his head and only said one 
word : ‘ But ; ’ so I had hoped perhaps ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Pamela quite stiffly. “ But as he 
sent word that he wished to see me, of course I felt 
bound to come.” 

“ Come then,” said Mrs. Finch, looking dubiously 
at her, as if doubting whether such a hard-hearted 
girl deserved the privilege about to be accorded to her. 
And crossing the hall, she showed her into the 
drawing room, which had been fitted up comfortably 
as a bedroom for the sick man. A professional 
nurse, who was busj'^ with some fancy-work at the 
window, rose when the ladies entered, and prepared 
to leave the room. 

“You’ll make him keep as quiet as you can, and 
not let him talk much ? ” she said in a low voice to 
Pamela, whose interest in the invalid she evidently 
imagined to be of a tender nature. “ He is going on 
very well, but the wound in his arm proved more 
serious than was expected, and he is weak from the 
loss of blood.” 


204 


A TERIUBLE FAMILY, 


Then the nurse and Mrs. Finch left the room. 

A screen hid the door from the patient’s sight. 
But Dick had heard the whispering, and he called 
out: 

“ Who’s there ? is anybody there ? ” 

Pamela was shocked by the weakness of his voice. 
She came round the screen slowly like a guilty 
child. They had put him into a bed, and the band- 
ages round his head made him look ghastly as he 
lay back on his pillows. Pamela was shocked : he 
seemed to her to look so much worse than he had 
done when she found him lying in the orchard. She 
felt sure that he must be dying, and it was with 
a face softened by deep feeling that she came 
softly up to the bedside. She tried to speak, but 
she was too much moved, not only by compassion, 
but by the joyful welcome she saw in his pale 
face. 

“ You have come,” said he, as he moved the fingers 
of his left hand, the nearest to her, as a sign to her 
to give him hers. She did so at once, very gently, 
for it was the left arm which was wounded. 

“ So you were not offended,” he added softly. 

“ No, oh no ! don’t talk ! ” 

“ I must talk. I have something to say — to you, 
that if I were well you wouldn’t let me say.” A 
pause, during Avhich Pamela took off her glove and 
took his hand between both hers very gently. “ And 
as I may never get well, I use my chance, you see.” 

In the pause which ensued now, Pamela slid down 
softly on her knees beside the bed as she had done 
two nights before beside the sofa. She knew what 


DICK'S SWEETIIBAET. 205 

he was going to say. When he said it she dropped 
her cheek gently on to his hand. 

“ I love you. I think I did from, the first. I am 
so happy — knowing it was you who tried to save my 
life — that I would rather die like this than have gone 
on living without your ever having come nearer to 
me.” 

“ Don’t, don’t talk like that,” whispered Pamela, 
trying to keep quite calm. “ You must he quiet, 
quite quiet, you know. You are not to agitate 
yourself.” 

“ I don’t. It is you who are agitating yourself. 
When a man lies expecting to die he gets very 
quiet, I find.” 

Pamela raised a tear-stained, quivering face, and 
looked straight into his eyes, as if the force of her 
will would carry out her wish. 

“You must not die. You die,” she whis- 

pered between her set teeth. 

A change came over his face, and his eyes glowed. 

“ You don’t want me to ? ” 

“No, oh no, no ! ” 

“ But you only promised — to be my sweetheart — 
(and a very neglectful one you are too ! ) till I got 
well.” 

She was so over- wrought that she scarcely knew 
what she was doing : she kissed his hands half a 
dozen times with a little moaning sound. He put 
his right hand out till it touched her wavy brown 
hair. 

“ Will you be my sweetheart — whether I go — off 
the hooks — or not ? ” 


206 


A TEBUIBLE FAMILY. 


“ Yes, yes, whatever you do, as long as you don’t 
die ! ” 

“ Kiss me, then. Stand up and give me your 
hands and kiss me. I’m not a very handsome sweet- 
heart to look at just now, but you shall be proud of 
me, presently.” 

Nobody would have thought, if they had seen 
Pamela kiss her sweetheart, that she had been 
coerced so cruelly into her engagement. Though 
she cried and trembled, she looked as happy as 
could be. 

When the nurse, thinking he had had enough of 
what she was still inclined to think must have been 
an exciting interview, knocked at the door, Pamela 
came at Once mto the hall with a particularly de- 
mure expression of face. 

“ I must make haste back,” she said, to Mrs. 
Finch, who was watching her narrowly. “It is 
quite dark.” 

“Good-bye, my dear,” said the lady, stopping 
some words of gratitude which Pamela tried to 
utter, “ I’m so glad yOu came this evening. Only 
I’m sorry to hear that you dislike him so, and that 
you are not engaged.” 

“ TFe are.E’’ whispered Pamela, with a crimson 
face, as she rushed out of the house. 


JSf£:W8 OF THE FUGITIVE, 


2U7 


CHAPTER XYII. 

NEWS OP THE FUGITIVE. 

Pamela was ashamed of herself. After her severe 
admonitions to Jane on the subject of Jim St. Rhade- 
gund, how could she go humbly to confess to her 
that she had broken down with regard to Dick? 
She half resolved to keep her own counsel for a lit- 
tle while ; but remembering in time that she would 
never be able to keep a secret from Jane, which 
would involve much prevarication, she made up her 
mind to get her confession over as quickly as possi- 
ble. The dreary and rather alarming walk back in 
the dark was quickly accomplished, and then she 
had to face, not Jane but her mother, who was ut- 
terly scandalized on learning that her daughter had 
gone out alone at such an hour. 

“ Pray what is the meaning of this, Pamela ? ” 
she asked severely, as she let the culprit in. Pamela 
glanced at Jane, who was lingering in the back- 
ground, as if to ask whether she had not given her 
mother some explanation. “ I want your account, 
not Jane’s,” said Mrs. Hoad-Blean, as she made her 
truant daughter precede her into the drawing-room. 
“You girls are much too ready to shield each other. 


208 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


Between you, I can never get at the truth of any- 
thing.” 

The reproach was quite unmerited, but the poor 
lady, unable to he just where her darling son was 
concerned, Avas still enraged against the St. Rhade- 
gunds, and chose to fancy that her two eldest daugh- 
ters were more inclined to take their side than hers, 
in the quarrel caused by Edward’s conduct. * 

Pamela at once perceived that she had something 
worse to dread than Jane’s reproaches. However, 
she was ready to show fight, and thought she had a 
good case. 

“ Dick St. Rhadegund sent word to ask if I would 
go and see him, mamma,” she answered quietly; 
“ and as he was ill, I couldn’t refuse, of course.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean frowned at the beginning of this 
speech, and went on frowning more severely at the 
end of it. 

“ I wish you would both leave off speaking of 
these young men by nick-names,” she said, petu- 
lantly. 

“Well, mamma, every one calls them so.” 

“ What they or their father do is no business of 
yours. Nick-names are extremely bad form. And if 
this Richard St. Rhadegund did send for you, Avhich 
was a most improper thing for him to do, it is quite 
a new thing for me to hear that young girls can run 
off late in the evening, without their mother’s pres- 
ence and even without her knowledge, to call upon 
young men, however ill they may be.” 

The two girls knew that their mother cherished a 
grudge against Dick for allowing himself to be shot 


NEWS OF THE FUGITIVE. 


209 


by Edward, and so getting her poor boy into all this 
trouble. This made it the more difficult for Pamela 
to confess. But excitement had put her into a reck- 
less mood, and she resolved to “ get it over.” 

“ He is very ill, mamma. Come with me to-morrow 
and see him. And you will see for yourself.” 

Jane looked at her sister with some mild astonish- 
ment. But her amazement was nothing to her 
mother’s. 

“ Go — with — you to-morrow ! ” she exclaimed, as 
if she had not heard aright. “Are you going to 
make a practice of visiting young men when they 
are ill ? ” 

“ Yes, mamma, this one. For I have promised to 
marry him, if he gets well.” 

“ Pamela ! ” cried poor Jane, overwhelmed. 

While Mrs. Hoad-Blean herself, poor lady, was too 
much shocked to answer at all. After a vain attempt 
to do so, she sat down in an arm-chair and began to 
cry. She did indeed feel that all the world was 
against her. Pamela, diffident and remorseful, drew 
near with gentle words of explanation' and apology. 
Jane threw her arms round her mother’s neck and 
tried gently to persuade her, that Pamela was not 
altogether heartless and depraved. But it was a 
long time before they succeeded in calming her ; and 
when at last they persuaded her to let the wicked 
girl give her a good-night kiss, she looked as if she 
feared that the touch of Pamela’s lips would leave a 
scar. 

This Avas not the last of the ordeal Pamela had to 
go through ; for there Avas the explanation to be 


210 


A TERRIBLE FA3IILY. 


given to Jane herself in the i)rivacy of their own 
rooms. Jane was merciful, hut pained. 

“ It’s rather funny, you know, after the way you 
talked at me about poor J-Jim, whom I really, 
really liked,” she said with a tremor in her voice, 
“when you know you always pretended to hate 
Dick!”’' 

“ I know I did ! ” admitted Pamela ruefully ; “ at 
least I thought I meant it until — until I saw him 
lying there, and then — and then I felt somehow — as 
if, as if I shouldn’t know what to do with myself if 
he died ! ” 

“Well, of course you wouldn’t, nor should I, 
knowing that our own brother killed him. You 
might feel like that and yet not care for him very 
much,” said Jane dubiously. 

Pamela interrui)ted her rather impatiently : 

“At any rate I do care for him, so it’s no good 
talking to me. And — and — and I think — after 
m-m-m-mamma— you might — ” she sobbed, growing 
incoherent. 

Jane took her pretty brown head into her hands 
soothingly. 

“ Yes, yes, I know — I might leave you in peace. 
Well, dear, I will. Only don’t forget that it isn’t 
only you volcanic people that have feelings.” 

In the course of the following morning Pamela 
and Jane went for a walk together ; they went in 
the direction of the Red Farm, and Jane waited 
outside while Pamela went to see Dick ; which was 
noble, considering the circumstances. And the hard 
part of it was, that as they came back they saw Jim 


NEWS OF THE FUGITIVE. 


211 


riding toward them ; and that, as soon as he caught 
sight of them, he turned his horse aside across a 
field to avoid them. 

“ Never mind,” whispered Pamela to Jane, “ it 
will all come right.” 

She had just seen her lover, and was cheerful. 

Jane, who had not seen her lover, except for that 
unsatisfactory moment, declined to take the same 
view. 

“N — n — no, it won’t, I feel it won’t,” she said, 
tremulously and despondently. 

They thought it prudent to say nothing to their 
mother of the direction in which they had walked, 
and to their surprise Mrs. Hoad-Blean, who looked 
flushed and excited, asked no questions. She seemed 
extremely absent in manner all that day, answered 
any question that was put to her almost at random, 
and behaved so strangely altogether that the horrible 
thought suggested itself to the girls that the trouble 
she had had through Edward was affecting her own 
brain. This fear was strengthened by the certainty 
both girls felt that night that they heard her soft 
footsteps about the house when everybody else 
had gone to bed. This confirmation of their fears 
seemed so terrible that they scarcely dared to speak 
to each other about it on the following morning. 

Jane was darning a tablecloth, and Pamela was 
superintending the practicing of a duet by her little 
sisters, and trying to keep them within a bar or two 
of each other, when a loud ring and an imperious 
knock which they knew, announced the arrival of 
Lady Constantia. Since the misfortune of the 


212 


A TERIilBLE FAMILY. 


last few days, Mrs. IIoad-Blean had developed a 
positive alfection, who, to do her justice, Avas a 
partizan of the warmest kind. Conceiving that in 
espousing the cause of Mrs. IIoad-Blean against 
John St. Khadegmid she was upholding the cause 
of the threatened aristocracy against the usurping 
democracy, she threw her whole soul into the quarrel, 
and went even further than Edward’s mother herself 
in maintaining that whatever harm Edward might 
have done to an individual St. Rhadegund, the 
family had brought it upon that indi\^dual member 
and deserved all they had got. So that her visit 
poured balm into her friend’s Avound, and they 
chatted aAvay in perfect harmony, AAdiile Harriet sat 
bolt upright, lookhig even more forlorn and bemg 
even more difficult to draAV out than usual. 

“ I came to tell you and the dear girls that I’ve had 
to put my garden party off till next Aveek, as Alfred 
had an engagement he can’t get off; and I don’t 
think that Pamela, for instance,” and she gave an 
arch glance at that crimson-faced young woman, 
“ would enjoy herself much unless Alfred Avere there.” 

Jane looked at her sister maliciously, but Pamela 
would have died rather than raise her eyes or admit 
that she heard. Mrs. IIoad-Blean pursed her lips, 
and Avondered whether there Avas even yet any 
possibility of freeing Pamela from her “unhappy 
entanglement” before Thursday Aveek. She Avas 
obliged to tell herself that there Ava»- none, and it Avas 
with a sigh that she ansAvered : 

“ It is very good of you to come and ask us, and 
I’m sure the girls Avill be dreadfully disappointed ; 


liEWS OF THE FUGITIVE. 


213 


but I don’t feel, while poor Edward’s fate is hanging 
in the balance, as it were, through that spiteful man’s 
vindictiveness, that we ought to go to any gathering 
of pleasure.” 

The girls did not look disappointed, but Lady 
Constantia could not spare two beauties at one time 
from her garden party, so she combated Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean’s suggestion. 

“ But you can’t neglect your girls’ interests in 
that way. It isn’t necessary, and it isn’t right,” said 
she imperiously. “ As for Edward I have some news 
of him.” 

At these words, the girls noticed a very curious 
change come over their mother’s face. She did not 
look astonished, she did not look pleased, only 
curiously intent and watchful. Lady Constantia 
went on : 

“ You need be under no further anxiety about him : 
he has got safely away.” Still Mrs. IIoad-Blean’s 
face showed no change in expression, though with 
her lips she affected delight and a strong wish to 
know more. Lady Constantia continued : “ It came 

to my ears in a very roundabout way, which I need 
not trouble you with at present, that the horse 
that old St. Rhadegund missed out of his stables that 
night has been found near Queenbro’, so there is no 
doubt that your son has crossed to Flushing, and got 
away like that. So that really, now you know he 
is in safety, there is no reason for you to shut your- 
selves up. You must show a bold front in the world, 
my dear. All decent people will be on your side, 
and at last this man will find the force of public 


214 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY. 


opinion too strong for him, and will let the matter 
drop quietly. Of course you will give him notice to 
quit at the end of his term ? ” 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean admitted that this was what she 
would now have to do ; and Lady Constantia, de- 
lighted at having at last gained her point, was 
kinder and more tenderly patronizing than ever. 

“I am delighted to see you showing so much 
spirit,” she said. I am sure that now you will he 
as much delighted as I, when these i)eople are driven 
out of your beautiful home. I must tell you that I 
have serious thoughts of sending Harriet away, on 
account of the annoyance she suffers from one of the 
crew, a creature they call Tom. The other day — 
you will scarcely believe it, I caught him pelting her 
with cherries. She hadn’t the spirit to complain to 
me, or even to run away ; so I ran out and brought 
her indoors, telling him what I thought of his be- 
havior. The girl looked nearly dead with fright : 
she seemed too much alarmed to move.” 

Jane and Pamela, who knew, by some ‘ means 
or other, perhaps by girls’ freemasonry, more of 
the matter than the speaker did, glanced first at 
Harriet, who was crimson, and then at each other. 

“ He didn’t hurt me, mamma,” faltered Harriet. 

“ Hurt you ! I should think not. I would have 
had him taken up if he had. But it was insolence, 
the height of insolence, and if you were not more of 
your father’s daughter than mine, you would have 
resented it in a proper manner.” 

And she rose, still ruffled with her indignation, 
and carried off her meek offspring after having again 


NEWS OF THE FUGITIVE. 215 

insisted on the ajipearance of the girls at her garden 
party. 

When she had gone, Jane and Pamela seized the 
first opportunity of exchanging confidences. Pamela 
the impulsive broke the ice first. 

“ Jane,” she said, “ did you notice mamma’s face 
when Lady Constantia said Edward had escaped to 
Flushing ?” 

Pamela assented. 

“ Well, what did you think ? ” 

But Jane did not like to say what she thought, so 
Pamela said it for her. 

“You thought, remembering the noises we heard 
last night about, the house, that he wasn’t quite so 
far off.” 

“ Oh, sh — sh, Pamela, sh — sh ! ” 

“ Well, we must watch.” 

But to this Jane objected mightily. They could 
not spy on their own mother, she said. But Pamela 
was of opinion that they could, and ought to do so, 
to save their own mother, and perhaps a few more 
of them, from being shot or strangled. 

“ lie is mad, and she won’t believe it. And they 
say that mad people are so cunning that they de- 
ceive even their keepers to carry out the horrible 
schemes they make. I tell you we must watch, 
and if you won’t help me I must get somebody 
else to.” 

In the end, Jane, who saw there was reason in her 
sister’s words, agreed to her plan. That night, 
therefore, when they had retired to their rooms, both 
girls came softly out again, and, while Jane returned 


216 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


to the drawing-room, Pamela secreted herself in a 
big cupboard in the hall. 

Both girls had to wait, as they had expected, more 
than an hour before their intently listening ears 
caught the light sound of a footstep on the stairs. 
Each could hear her own breathing as she waited, 
in the dead -night-silence, for the next sound. 

Creak, creak, went the old boards of the wooden 
staircase, while the chirping of the cricket in the 
kitchen seemed to grow deafeningly loud, and the 
faint, unaccountable night-noises to fill the air and 
drown the sounds for which they were waiting. 
Jane, trembling very much, but following her sister’s 
instructions to the letter, lit a candle, seized a book, 
and came close to the drawing-room door. The 
noise she made in striking the match, or her light 
showing under the crack of the door, must have 
alarmed the person on the stairs. Something was 
kicked by a hasty foot, a hall-chair perhaps. And 
the noise was so near the drawing-room that Jane 
knew the right moment had come. She turned the 
handle of the door, and came face to face with the 
nocturnal wanderer. 

It was her mother. Mrs. Hoad-Blean was ghastly 
pale, and as the sudden opening of the door alarmed 
her, the long cloak she wore fell back a little, and 
showed upon her arm a big basket. Jane forgot 
her part, which was to pretend that finding herself 
unable to sleep, she had come down in search of a 
book. 

“ Mamma,” she said, entreatingly, “ you are going 
to Edward ! ” 


Nt;WS OF THE FUGITIVE. 217 

“ Sh — sli ! ” escaped her mother’s ashy lips. 

“Oh, mamma, let me go with you. Where is 
he?” 

Her mother had recovered herself, and seeing that 
she had been spied upon, was growing angry. 

“ What do you mean by springing upon me in 
that way ? Can’t I move about my own house with- 
out having spies at my heels ? Go up to your room, 
and — and” — she looked round fearfully and her 
tone changed pitifully, and became one of entreaty, 
“don’t say anything about this to Pamela, or of 
course to any one.” 

Jane caught her mother’s hand. “Oh, mamma, 
mamma,” she cried piteously, “ why won’t you trust 
us ? It is not right for you to go to him alone ? It is 
dangerous. You think you can control him, hut the 
moment will come when you will find you cannot. 
Now tell me, don’t you really know by this time 
that he is not quite right ? ” 

Her mother faltered and looked down. Truth to 
tell, the poor thing had not been without qualms 
of doubt, and her next words revealed this fact. 

“ It is all right. You needn’t he frightened. The 
poor hoy can harm no one,” she said, complainingly, 
as she plucked nervously at her daughter’s sleeve. 
“ Listen, Jane, and then you will know there is* no 
need to speak to Pamela.” 

She put her lips close to her daughter’s ear. “ He 
is shut up : I have locked him in,” she whispered. 

“ Where? ” asked Jane quickly. 

But her mother would not trust her with the 
secret. 


218 


A TEmtlBLE FAMILY. 


“ Oh, a long way from here, a very long way,” she 
said, hastily. 

cc But ” 

“ Oh, of course he cannot stay where he is. I am 
going to send him away right away. So -there is 
really no need for you to trouble your head about 
him.” 

“ But, mamma, you cannot send him away yourself, 
without help! ” said Jane persuasively. 

But opposition was beginning to irritate the poor 
lady. 

“Yes, yes, I can, without your help, without any- 
body’s. And I won’t be dictated to by my own 
children. Go back to your room at once, — at once I 
say.” 

And she stamped her foot on the floor. 

Turning very sorrowfully, Jane obeyed, and went 
straight upstairs. She had done her part, which 
was that of persuasion, and had failed. Now it was 
the turn of stratagem, and that was left to Pamela. 


MR, ISAACSON'S LITTLE TRIUMPH. 219 




CHAPTER XYTII. 

MR. Isaacson’s little triumph. 

No sooner had Jane gone upstairs, than Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean went into the drawing-room, and after a few 
minutes Pamela, who had put the door of the cup- 
board in* which she was hiding ajar, heard her 
come into the hall again. As soon as her mother 
reached the hall-door, Pamela, safe in the darkness, 
slipped out of her cupboard. Mrs. Hoad-Blean let 
herself out of the house with very little noise, 
and her daughter, after waiting to give her a few 
moments’ start, slipped out after her, ran across 
the little stone-paved yard, and peeped out into the 
road. It was rather a dark night, a fact which fav- 
ored the girl ; for seeing dimly her mother’s tall 
figure in her long black circular cloak going up the 
lane, she was able to follow with little fear of being 
seen. 

Before the very last of the cottages on the oppo- 
site side of the road, Mrs. Hoad-Blean stopped short.. 
A light broke upon Pamela. This end cottage stood 
back from the road and away from the others. It 
was a tumble-down place, at the end of a long strip 
of untidy garden, in which weeds and marigolds 
struggled for the mastery. A clump of elder bushes 


m 


A TEEEIBLE FAMILY, 


screened it from the row of cottages which came 
next, and under their branches stood an old water- 
butt, full to the brim of water which was covered 
with a thick green slime. The shutters were barred 
from the outside across the two lower windows, and 
in the garden stood a rickety post hearing a paper 
label with information that “This Four- Roomed 
Cottage ” was to let at the rent of three shillings a 
week. 

When her mother stopped, Pamela stopped. 
When the former, after a hasty look round, went 
through the gate and up the garden path, Pamela 
ran up the lane until she was exactly opposite to 
the cottage. And when Mrs. IIoad-Blean took a key 
from a nail on which it was hanging in the porch, 
unlocked the door and went in, Pamela ran up the 
garden in her turn and secreted herself under the 
elder bushes. There she had a long time to wait, so 
long that, fearing her brother might have done his 
mother some injury in a fit of mad rage, Pamela 
came out of her hiding-place and prowled around the 
cottage. The windows of the back were also fast- 
ened with outside shutters ; but she concluded that 
the glass inside must be broken, for she could quite 
plainly hear both her mother’s voice and Edwards, 
and after a few moments, as they grew more excited, 
she could even hear the words they said. Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean was trying to persuade her son to give up to 
her the revolver ; while he, in a dull but obstinate 
voice, was repeating over and over again a dogged 
refusal. 

“ Well then, dear, at least promise me that you 


ME. ISAACSON^ S LITTLE TEIUMPIL 221 

won’t attempt to use it,” she persisted coaxingly. 
“ Don’t you see, dear, if you were to he found with 
it, they’d say that all those dreadful things that 
were said about you were true. And then they 
Avould take you away from me and shut you up, 
so that I should never see you again.” 

Pamela could hear him reply petulantly : 

“ Oh, I’ll take care. I’m all right. How long are 
you going; to keep me shut up here ? ” 

“ Only ,a day or two, dear, till I can get some 
money together, enough to send you away with. 
And you will go this time, won’t you, dear ? Because 
you know you’re not safe here, not for long.” 

Pamela, who could feel little sympathy for her 
brother, felt a pang as she noticed the anxiety, the 
deep, hopeless tenderness, in her mother’s voice. It 
was a long time before the voices ceased inside, the 
mother at last giving up her task of persuasion as 
Hopeless. Then there was a long silence, during 
which Pamela knew that the mother was stroking 
her boy’s head with caressing fingers, and that the 
hoy himself was submitting to her caresses with an 
ill-grace and with many ejaculations of impatience. 
At last, with a heavy sigli, Mrs. IIoad-Blean rose up, 
and telling him that she would find an opportunity 
of coming to see him on the following morning, and 
that she would bring him something he liked better 
(from which Pamela inferred that he had been 
grumbling at the food she had brought him), she 
bade him a most tender farewell and left him. 

Pamela stole round the cottage again, watched 
her mother lock the door and hang the key on the 


222 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


nail ; then she only waited until Mrs. IIoad-Blean 
had got out of sight, before she stole round to the 
door herself. 

There was one fixed idea in her mind : she must 
get that revolver away from Edward. Now, a 
struggle with a lunatic is not a thing to be lightly 
entered upon, so she stood for a few moments with 
the key in her hand, debating how she should set 
about it. She knew that Edward had been provided 
by his mother with a light ; and she guessed, from 
the words which had passed between them, that 
Edward carried the revolver upon his own person. 
She thought that perhaps, by slipping into the house 
very quietly, she might he able to watch him a little 
while through the keyhole or the cracks of the door, 
and he able to decide on the best way of attack. 
Having opened the outer door of the cottage, she 
left the key in the lock, so that in the probable event 
of her having to make a rapid escape she could just 
slam the door to and lock it without delay. For this 
reason, also, she left the door wide open. The door 
of the back room, in which Edward was, she found 
ajar, the fact being that the catch of the lock was 
worn out and would not hold. From the sounds 
inside the room she could tell that Edward was 
eating : surely, then, this would be as good a 
moment as any in which to take him unawares. 
She ventured to peep in. By the light of a solitary 
candle Edward, who was reclining pretty comfortably 
on the floor on a pile of the drawing-room cushions, 
was eating sandwiches and looking at an illustrated 
paper. Pamela could almost hear her heart beating. 


MR. ISAACSON'S LITTLE TRIUMPH. 223 

He was wearing a pea-jacket, which Avas thrown 
open, and she could not doubt that the revolver was 
in one of the pockets of this. SJie rapidly decided 
that her success must depend upon surprise: she 
must overturn the candle, throw him back upon the 
cushions, ransack his pockets and escape before he 
had any idea who his assailant was or what was her 
object. 

Snatching her opportunity when his head' was 
bent over an illustration, she stole into the room and 
.overturned the candle with astonishing quickness. 
But as the candle fell, it burnt for a moment on the 
floor before it was extinguished by the draft from 
her skirts. In that moment Edward saw just this — 
that there was a woman in the room. Ilasprang up 
with a fierce yell, and made a spring in the direction 
of the spot Avliere he had seen her. But she had 
stepped aside in a fright as he rose, so that he just 
missed her, and she was able to distinguish the out- 
line of his figure against the crack above the window 
shutter. She could make out no more than that he 
was between her and the door, between her, there- 
fore, and all chance of immediate escape. 

They stood there for a few long moments in the 
dark, hearing at first absolutely nothing. But some 
slight sounds, either of her feet on the old boards or 
of her quick-coming breath, must have reached his 
ears ; for presently he made another spring at her, 
catching the bead fringe of the little cape she was 
Avearing, part of Avhich, as she Avrenched herself 
away, Avas torn off, and scattered a pattering rain of 
beads upon the floor. Again and again, uttering 


224 


A TEBIUBLE FAMILY. 


strange groans and cries, lie sprang at her, and again 
and again she evaded him, aided by the darkness and 
by the fact that his rising frenzy made his aim less 
accurate. At last, when he had made a wild plunge 
forward, Pamela heard something fall upon the floor. 
The idea sprang into her mind that it was the revolver. 
When he made the plunge she had eluded him, so 
that they had changed places. Feeling about quickly 
with her feet, she touched something. She stooped, 
and as she did so, she suddenly became aware that 
Edward was stooping too, and that his hands were 
close to hers, feeling about the floor. Without a 
moment’s delay, she thrust out her hands, touched 
his shoulders, and flung him backwards with all her 
strength. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance 
and fell backwards. The moment was enough. 
Her groping hands found the revolVer and seized it ; 
before her brother could get upon his feet, she had 
rushed out of the room, down the little stone pas- 
sage, and out of the cottage, not forgetting to lock 
the door behind her. 

She had scarcely turned the key in the lock when 
she heard Edward shaking the door. If he could 
burst it open she was lost ! she could not hope to 
struggle with him successfully in the open. A 
happy thought struck her : the water-butt ! Hold- 
ing the revolver from her with a women’s unspeak- 
able dread of firearms, she dropped it through the 
green slime into the stagnant water, and ran down 
the garden as if for her life. 

Jane was waiting for her, and in answer to a soft 
little scratch on the front door, she let her in. 


MR. ISAACSON^ S LITTLE TRIUMPH. 225 

The poor girls held a long consultation, in which 
it was finally decided that, having done the most 
they could in disarming Edward, they would neither 
speak to their mother about him again, nor make 
any further movement in the matter. Pamela had 
heard from her mother’s OAvn lips that she intended 
to send him away, so they could only hope that she 
would do so as quickly as possible. In the mean 
time, they could not be without fears that Edward 
would grow tired of discretion, and break out of his 
prison to do more mischief. 

On the very next day an event occurred which 
strengthened these fears. Lady Constantia called 
early in the morning to say that she was going to 
Rylestone to give some orders in connection with her 
garden-party, and to know whether any of the girls 
would like to accompany her. Mrs. IIoad-Blean 
wanted various things, so she sent Jane with the 
autocrat, who was chiefly in want of an opportunity 
to “pump” some member of the family about Cap- 
tain IIoad-Blean’s recent visit. They went by train, 
and on arriving at Rylestone the two ladies separated, 
each to do her own shopping. It was decided that 
they were to meet at the railway-station for the re- 
turn journey. Whatever pleasure Jane might have 
had in her day’s work was completely spoilt by two 
meetings she had in the course of the morning : one 
was with Mr. Isaacson, who was driving the cele- 
brated phaeton, and the second was with Jim. The 
former, whom, she noticed, was looking pab and wor- 
ried, appeared delighted to see her, and raised bis 
hat with a flourish. To escape him, Jane dashed 
15 


226 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


into a shop. On the other hand, Jim, whom she 
met on horseback as she came out, pretended not 
even to see her as he rode up the street. Poor Jane 
tried to believe that she was only angry at his 
incivility. But in truth, she was cut to the heart 
by his unkindness. 

She had done her shopping, lunched with a friend, 
and paid a duty-call for her mother, and was walk- 
ing up the hill to the station with a multitude of 
small packages in her arms, when she heard sounds 
behind her which she knew must come from the 
hoofs of Mr. Isaacson’s horses. He drove past her, 
pulled up, threw the reins to the groom, and got 
down. More plainly than before, she noticed the 
worried expression on his face, and felt curious to 
know whether it had any reference to Edward’s do- 
ings. She was not left long in doubt. After warm 
greetings, and obsequious inquiries concerning her 
health and that of her family, he insisted on taking 
her parcels from her- and giving them into the 
charge of the groom to take up to the station. In 
liis manner Jane quickly noticed a falling-off in his 
admiration and a coming-on in his anxiety. 

“ Have you heard anything of your brother ? ” 
asked he in a low voice, while Jane’s eyes fell. “ Of 
course I heard of the unfortunate affair with young 
St. Bhadegund ; and then — why, then,” he continued 
looking at her in a very penetrating manner, “I 
heard that he had gone away.” 

“ Quite true,” answered Jane without meeting his 
eyes, “ he did go away.” 

“But,” said Mr, Isaacson, in a significant tone, 


MR. ISAACSON'S LITTLE TRIUMPH. 227 

•‘have you any reason to suppose that he has come 
back again ? ” 

Jane flushed guiltily. What could she say ? She 
said nothing. 

“ Because,” went on Mr. Isaacson, pretending to 
look down upon the ground to relieve her embarrass- 
ment, but casting an occasional glance at her out of 
the corners of his eyes, “ I really had a fancy that I 
saAV him myself two nights ago, looking in at the 
window of my dining-room while I was at dinner. 
The sight produced a very uncanny impression upon 
me, I do assure you. I sent the butler out into the 
grounds at once, and he said he saw some one run 
away. And it is certain that there were foot-marks 
in a flower-bed on the lawn, and that a gate which 
had been supposed to be closed, was found open. Can 
you help me to account for these things ? ” 

“Mr. Isaacson,” replied Jane quickly, turning to 
him an agitated face, “ I can tell you one thing : you 
had better leave this place for a little while; it 
would be safer for you. Please don’t ask me any 
more.” 

“But, Miss Jane,” said he, with genuine solici- 
tude in his face and voice, “ if there is danger for me, 
there is also danger for you.” 

“Well?” 

“Why don’t you give him up? He is mad, you 
know, and nothing worse can happen to him than 
to be put into an asylum.” 

“ Perhaps not. But surely, Mr, Isaacson, that 
suggestion does not come well from the person who 
did moi’e than anybody el^e to develop bis madness ” 


228 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


« Don’t say that, Miss Jane, don’t say that ! It is 
most unjust, most cruel of you. When I first made 
his acquaintance he was gloomy, depressed, out of 
spirits, and out of pocket. I took him about on my 
yacht, cheered him up, lent him money — — ” 

“You had no business to do that,” interrupted 
Jane quickly. “ And you did it with an object in 
view. You wanted to get him into your power. 
The men of your nation have the reputation of not 
being so generous, Mr. Isaacson, as you would make 
yourself out to have been to my brother.” 

They were both getting very much excited, and 
as they walked up the hill to the station they 
kept stopping in order to give greater emphasis to 
their words. All this was noticed by Jim St; Rliade- 
gund, who had left his horse at a stable in the 
town, and was strolling up to the station with the 
express purpose of seeing Jane there. The after- 
noon trains being few in number, he had been able 
to guess by which one she would return home ; and 
not having seen her with Lady Constantia, he did 
not know under whose chaperonage she was. 

When Jane delivered her taunt to Mr. Isaacson, 
the money-lender took, it very quietly, though the 
expression of his eyes was not quite pleasant to see. 

“ You mean, I suppose, that I am a Jew, and that 
Jews are considered mean, but that is a great mis- 
take. A Jew objects to pay for a thing more than 
the thing is worth. Quite right too. But, on the 
other hand, a Jew is always ready to plank down a 
big price for a good article, an article he thinks 
worth getting. Now I considered the honor of your 


3IR. ISAACSON' S LITTLE TRIU^IPU. 229 

acquaintance so well worth getting, that I must have 
it, cost what it would. And I lolanked down a good 
price for it. Perhaps you think that a vulgar way 
of putting it ; but it’s true, you know.” 

Jane was rather amused, even rather touched, 
though she was more than rather disgusted. She 
paused for a moment, unable to find the exact words 
in which she would choose to reply, and in that 
pause there bustled out from the statren-door Lady 
Constantia, with a new brass bird-cage bursting out 
of its brown paper covering in one hand, which she 
had just rescued from the hand of a porter in the 
belief that he was not to be trusted with her pur- 
chase. Worse than this, at the same moment Jim 
St. Rhadegund came up to the station-steps. 

Both the new-comers, not unnaturally misled by 
the earnestness of the conversation they had inter- 
rupted, came to the conclusion that it had been of a 
more tender sort on both sides than was the case. 
And this impression received confirmation when 
Mr. Isaacson, with all the air of a man who has the 
right to pay these attentions, took Jane’s parcels 
from his groom and deferentially asked whether he 
might wait until the train came up and put them in 
the carriage. 

Poor Jane glanced at Jim, who, instead of pass- 
ing through into the station and buying a paper or 
a book as a pretext for coming there, seemed to have 
lost his head, and stood under the portico, watching 
Mr. Isaacson with a scowl which frightened the girk 
Lady Constantia, who liad on all previous occasions 
on meeting the money-lender, looked through him 


230 


A TEliRlBLE FAMILY. 


as if a person of his inferior condition must be 
treated as being non-existent altogether, now with 
caprice quite as typical of her class, smilingly gave 
him the permission which Jane wished to refuse. 
She also favored him with the bird-cage, and after 
a few moments’ conversation, full of gracious con- 
descension on her part, expressed admiration for his 
rhododendrons, and wound up by inviting him to her 
garden-party in the following week. “ If you gay 
London gentlemen care for such a modest entertain- 
ment as a country garden-party ! ” 

To judge by the profusion of Mr. Isaacson’s 
thanks, the pleasure was the greatest wliich life 
could afford him ; and indeed this was not far from 
being the truth, since it seemed to him the first step 
towards a social rise and towards Jane BleaiTs hand 
at the same time. 

Jane glanced piteously at Lady Constantia, and 
then looked at Jim. He had been near enough to 
overhear the invitation. But it had scarcely been 
given, when, turning sharply, he walked with rapid 
steps down the hill ; and poor J ane stood staring 
after him until Lady Constantia brought her round 
with a strong hand and marched her into the sta- 
tion, where she left all the conversation to her 
chaperon and Mr. Isaacson until the train started. 

“ Oh, Lady Constantia, how could you invite that 
odious man?” cried Jane in a voice of anguish when 
they left the smiling and bowing Isaacson behind on 
the platform. 

Lady Constantia settled herself back in her corner 
in a complacent manner. 


MB. 1SAACS0N\S LITTLE TRIUMPH. 231 

“ My dear, I made up my mind all in a moment, 
that it was the best thing I could do for you. 
There was that young St. Rhadegund hanging 
about, and it has been said about the place that he 
admires you. Now that sort of rumor in a place 
like this sticks to a girl and does her no good. So 
the happy thought came into my mind to choke him 
off and bring the other one to the point at one blow. 
You saw that he slunk off immediately.” 

Jane said nothing. She was too miserable to 
speak. 

“ And I’ve no doubt, my dear, that it’s the last 
time you will be troubled with the sight of the 
creature, for they are all of them going away within 
a fortnight.” 

Still Jane said nothing. But as Lady Constantia 
settled herself once more with the air of a person 
who has done a good deed, the girl looked out on 
the broad fields and the distant sea and felt as if all 
the light and color had gone out of the world for- 
ever. 


282 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

LADY CONST ANTI a’ S GARDEN-PARTY. 

Poor Jane! Instead of feeling the spirit of fierce 
resistance rise within her, as Pamela would have 
done, she began to sink into a dull and bewildered 
condition of helpless, hopeless acquiescence in the 
fate that was to give her for a husband a man she 
detested. Lady Constantia had quite settled the 
match in her own mind, and she accompanied Jane 
home for the purpose of impressing the fact upon 
Mrs. Hoad-Blean. 

“ You know,” said the autocrat, “ nobody thinks 
anything of a man’s being a Jew nowadays. Of 
course, in our young days it was different. And he 
isn’t a Jew by religion, because I’ve often seen him 
in church.” 

“ That was only because Jane was there,” said 
Mrs. Hoad-Blean dubiously. 

“ Yes, that is another point,” said Lady Con- 
stantia excitedly. “His admiration has been so 
persistent that he has managed to get himself talked 
about with her, which is bad for any girl, especially 
for one who does such daring things as both Jane 
and Pamela sometimes do.” The mother flushed 
angrily and looked up quickly. Lady Constantia 


LADY CONSTANTIA^S GABBEN-PARTY. 233 


went on with a soothing hand on her friend’s 
arm, hut with a rather disagreeable tone of voice. “ I 
don’t want to be unkind, but Pamela has been seen 
lately running about the lanes at all times of the 
day and night : really I don’t know what Alfred 
would think if he knew.” 

Into Mrs. IIoad-Blean’s mind there flashed the 
first spark of satisfaction she had felt in Pamela’s 
engagement to Dick St. Rhadegund. From motives 
of policy as well as of friendship, she did not want 
to quarrel with the very quarrelsome Lady Constan- 
tia ; but she could not help thinking that it would 
be balm to the feelings the autocrat so often 
wounded if Alfred were to propose and be promptly 
rejected by Pamela. On the other hand, Alfred was 
certainly, from heV point of view, by far the better 
match. A man’s connections had to be considered 
as well as himself ; there was no doubt of it. 

“ Pamela is a good girl, if she is rather head- 
strong,” she said, looking down into her work-basket. 

“ Oh, my dear, I’ve no doubt of that ; nor that 
Jane is a good girl too. But, though I’m the last 
person myself to listen to tittle-tattle, I couldn’t 
help hearing it said that not so very long ago she 
went up to London all by herself one day, and that 
she came back in a compartment alone with one of 
the young St. Rhadegunds — the creature they call 
Jim, I think it was. Really, those young men seem 
to pervade the place ; there’s no end to the mischief 
they’re causing. And now I hear there’s a young 
woman with a child been seen about the place, who 
says she’s married to one of them.” 


234 A TEBEIBLE FAMILY. 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean at this point looked interested 
indeed. 

“ Where did you hear this ? Is the woman in the 
village ? Married, do you say ? ” 

“Oh, don’t distress yourself so much about it. 
Of course that part of the story isn’t true ; but that 
the woman and child have been seen about, there’s 
no doubt, unfortunately. I only tell you to put you 
on your guard. And believe me, my dear, you can’t 
do better than make Jane be civil to this Isaacson.” 

Now, the patronizing tone in which the lady said 
this was more than flesh and blood could stand. 
Mrs. IIoad-Blean snapped back at last. 

“Would you let him marry your daughter?” 
asked she, sharply. 

Lady Constantia laughed rather guiltily. 

“Well, no, my dear,” she answered after a mo- 
ment’s pause, with a frankness which savored of 
insolence, “ I don’t think I should. But then you 
know I have only one daughter, which makes a dif- 
ference, and it has made it so much easier to look 
out for her. I’ve always kept her in almost nun -like 
seclusion, brought her up a little too strictly, per- 
haps, so that it will be my own fault if she’s too 
particular to get married at all.” 

She rose here, and held out her hand. Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean took it very coldly in hers, and did not hide 
the fact that she was thoroughly displeased. Her 
daughters, who had not been present at this inter- 
view, met her in the hall when she had shown Lady 
Constantia out, and were surprised at the expression 
of her face. 


LADY CONSTANTIA^ S GAUDEN-PABTY. 235 

^ What’s the matter, mamma,” asked Pamela, and 
they followed their mother into the drawing-room. 

“ That woman is getting insufferable,” she began, 
not only to the girls’ astonishment but to their de- 
light. “ She talks as if her plain, gawky daughter 
were your superior. And you’ve brought it upon 
yourselves, and upon me,” she went on fretfully, 
unconsciously glad to find some one upon whom she 
could vent her annoyance. “ I told you, Pamela, 
that you ought not to run backwards and forwards 
to the Red Farm to see this Richard, who is very 
fond of you while he is lying ill, but who wasn’t 
even decently civil to you before his accident, and 
who will be just as rude as ever when he gets well 
again.” 

Both Jane and Pamela attempted to protest, but 
she silenced them abruptly, turning to Jane. 

“And you, Jane, from whom I really did expect 
better things, you have so compromised yourself by 
permitting this Isaacson’s attentions, ttiat I don’t 
see how you can avoid marrying him.” 

The girl looked horror-struck as her mother went 
on : 

“ And that is not all. You never told me that you 
came back from town with another of these misera- 
ble St. Rhadegunds. But you were seen, and every- 
body is talking about you. And men of such bad 
character too, as they are! Thoroughly aban- 
doned and depraved, as far as women are con- 
cerned 1 ” 

This was rather an imposing superstructure to 
build upon Lady Constantia’s vague statement about 




^ TEUIUBLE EAMILY. 


the woman and the child. But poor Mrs. Iload- 
Blean, who was almost hysterical with vexation and 
with the thought of all her troubles, was in one of 
those moods in which the feminine tongue roams 
widely. 

The two girls were far too much frightened to ask 
questions, and to bring her down to definite facts. 
They soothed her as well as they could, and Pamela 
called Lady Constantia a pompous old busybody, 
vv^Mcli gave Mrs. TIoad-Blean some comfort, though 
she faintly protested. It was with no great feelings 
of pleasure that the two girls looked forward to the 
garden-party. Pamela was led to expect a proposal 
of marriage from Alfred Fitzjocelyn, Jane one from 
Mr. Isaacson. But while the former was preparing 
a decided refusal, poor Jane knew that she would 
not dare to take such a valiant course with her dis- 
tasteful admirer. 

“Why not, Jane?” asked her more vivacious 
sister impatiently. “ You don’t like him : well, then 
it’s very simple — don’t have him.” 

But Jane sighed and looked doubtful. She felt 
the pressure of opinion round her far more keenly 
than the less sensitive Pamela. She knew that by 
refusing Mr. Isaacson she would not only offend 
everybody, but would also do something that seemed 
far worse in her modest eyes — seem to tell Jim 
St. Rhadegund that she was waiting for him to come 
back to her. Now to Pamela this appeared absurd. 
If she cared for a man, and knew that he cared for 
her, she would go down on her knees, and ask him 
to come back to her, rather than lose him. 


LADY CONSTANflA' S GAIWEN-PAETY. 237 

“ Ah,” cried Jane, “ but I don’t feel sure that he 
does care for me ! ” 

“ You’re not conceited enough,” laughed her sister. 
“ N'ow when a man tells me he adores me, I’m quite 
ready to believe him.” 

So the days went slowly by, not too happily for 
anybody ; for even Pamela began to lose her spirits 
when she noticed that old Mr. St. Rhadegund, in- 
stead of looking over her head when he met her as 
if she had not been there, began to treat her to a 
malicious stare, which boded no good for her and 
Dick. Dick himself changed for the worse in his 
manner towards her as he grew better. Not that 
he grew less loving ; on the contrary, he seemed to 
count the minutes hungrily that she spent at his 
bedside, growing gloomy and morose as the time 
drew near for her to leave him. But he had lost his 
cheerfulness and even his trust of her ; and showed so 
much jealousy that she thought it better to make no 
allusion to the garden party. He must have heard it 
talked about before he fell ill ; but as he had evidently 
forgotten all about it, she did not remind him of it. 
She Avas always very careful to say nothing unkind 
about his father, but she could not help feeling con- 
scious that it Avas the old man’s influence Avhich Avas 
Avorking this change in Dick’s manner towards her. 

Affairs Avere at this stage Avhen the day of the 
long-expected event arrived. Pamela tried hard to 
get as far as the Red Farm in the morning, knoAving 
that Dick, Avho expected her, would be terribly an- 
noyed and distressed at her not coming. But at the 
last moment her clever fingers were Avanted to make 


238 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY, 


some alterations in the new frocks for herself and 
Jane, which had just been sent home for them to 
wear that afternoon. So she wrote an affectionate 
little note, and gave it to one of the village boys, 
whom she thought she could trust, to deliver at the 
Red Farm. But it was with feelings of uneasiness 
on his account as well as on her own that she started 
with her mother and Jane for Salternes Court that 
afternoon. 

It was a sunless, sultry afternoon, and a threat of 
thunder in the air gave interest to the proceedings. 
The guests were arriving in numbers, but Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean had the satisfaction of perceiving, what 
she had indeed already known, that her handsome 
daughters would be the strongest attraction in the 
grounds. She knew nearly all of the guests ; and 
as they had been chosen for birth and social posi- 
tion rather than for good looks or personal charm, 
they were for the most part a collection of oddities 
rather than an assemblage of the representatives 
of beauty and fashion. Young maidens there were 
indeed in plenty, and young maidens are for the 
most part fair to look upon. But the vagaries of 
mamma’s taste and of the local dre^maker had, in 
the case of most of these damsels, reduced their 
comeliness almost to the vanishing point. The 
older matrons, who were i)resent in much greater 
numbers than they should have been, were with- 
out exception “ dowdy while those among the 
younger women present who had gallantly tried to 
dress for the occasion, were for the most part over- 
dressed. 


LADY (JONSTANTIA'S GARDEN-PAllTY. 239 

The IToad-B^ean girls were saved from the fate of 
being either under-dressed or over-dressed by the 
instinctive correctness of taste of Pamela : so that 
in silver gray alpaca, with big black hats trimmed, 
the one with yellow and the other copper-colored 
roses, they made the very most of their beauty, and 
attracted the admiring attention of every one present. 

Salternes Court was a modern house, imposing 
only by its size, Mr. Fitzjoceyln having a mania for 
building, which he indulged by adding a fresh piece 
to his house whenever the fancy seized him. The 
consequence was that it looked like a barrack, and 
that half of the building Avas decaying for the Avant 
of being lived in. But the grounds Avere beautiful 
enough to make one overlook the defects of the 
house : and if Lady Constantia had been a better 
hostess, her garden-parties Avould have been more 
that succes (VestDne^ and invitations to them Avould 
have been hailed Avith hopes of enjoyments instead 
of as acknoAvledgments of the social position of the 
recipients. In common Avith most entertainments 
in the country in which horses are not concerned, 
there Avas a remarkable absence of men in the prime 
of life, their place being unsatisfactorily filled by 
gentlemen under the age of seventeen and over the 
age of seventy. To do her justice. Lady Constantia 
Avorked very hard, and even tried to bully melancholy 
looking guests into enjoying themselves. But it Avas 
not of much avail ; the elements present assimilated 
badly, and the dullness of the festivity may be 
judged from the fact that the presence of Mr, Isaac- 
son created a flutter of excitenient. 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


:>40 

The money-lender behaved beautifully. He was 
on his mettle ; and having the advantage of most of 
the men present in being brimful of London topics 
and London stories, he was able to make himself 
agreeable to the elderly ladies and gentlemen to 
whom he was introduced, and made Lady Constantia 
feel quite proud of the happy thought which had 
induced her to invite him. So that it was some time 
before he felt free to do more than raise his hat to 
Jane, though he followed her about with his eyes 
wherever she went. 

Jane, who had been dreading the afternoon on his 
account, was delighted at this respite from her ad- 
mirer’s attentions. 

Pamela was not so fortunate. Alfred Fitzjoceyln, 
abruptly leaving the person he was talking to when 
she came into the grounds, immediately attached 
himself to her, in spite of her coldness, and insisted 
on taking her to hear the “ Swiss Choir,” who were 
jodelling very terribly in one corner of the grounds, 
to the astonishment of the cows in the neighboring 
field, who came up to the hedge and looked over at 
them disconcertingly. 

“ Not up to much, these fellars, are they ? ” said 
he, close to the ears of the principal Swiss, who, 
being a native of Bethnal Green, understood him 
perfectly. 

“ I don’t care much for mountain music,” replied 
Pamela more discreetly. “ But perhaps mamma 
would like to hear them ; I’ll go and ask her.” 

“ Oh, better not disturb her ! ” said Alfred quickly. 
“ She’s talking to our ‘ lion,’ the only one we could 


LADY CONSTANTIA^S GABDEN-PARTY. 241 


get, and considered very good at the price — a Xew 
Zealand missionary, who only just packed up his 
tracts and came back in time to avoid being cooked 
for dinner in his parishioners’ soup-kettle.” 

“ They don’t eat missionaries in Xew Zealand,” 
objected Pamela. 

“ Don’t they ? I’m sure they’re very welcome to 
begin.” 

But Pamela would not be amused, and again she 
made an excuse to get away. In vain. Alfred was 
as constant as her shadow, and quite as impervious 
to snubs. More and more devoted he grew, as he 
insisted on taking her to the marquee where the 
refreshments were, and thence to the hiAvn -tennis 
ground, where a few enthusiasts were playing. Sev- 
eral times he approached the subject which she was 
determined he should avoid ; on each occasion she 
checked him abruptly, and he accepted her rebuke 
with meekness. At last she began to think it would 
be better to let him come to the point and get it 
over ; then she could give him a point-blank refusal, 
and he would leave her in peace. But when she 
had made up her mind to this, it seemed to her that 
Alfred’s enthusiastic devotion began to flag ; at any 
rate, he missed two or three openings which a lover 
ought to have seized. So that when at last she got 
away from him, on the pretext of devoting herself 
to old Lady Acol, Avho had to be shouted at tlirough 
an ear-trumpet, Alfred had not yet made his pro- 
posal, and was therefore still unrejected. 

In the meantime, Jane had not been witliout lier 
sorrows. After escaping her fate for a long time, 

16 


242 


A TERUIBLE FAMILY. 


she was pounced upon and carried ott’ by Mr. Isaac- 
son, who, if a less obsequious lover than Alfred, 
seemed to be a more determined and straightfor- 
ward one. 

One would have thought he had been at Salternes 
Court before, so unerringly did he choose those paths 
and by-ways which led to the most remote part of 
the grounds ; and this too, while apparently so much 
absorbed in the conversation he was carrying on as 
to be unable to choose his way. The direction in 
which they went was towards the adjoining grounds 
of St. Domneva’s Priory. 

“ What beautiful grounds these are of Mr. Fitz- 
jocelyn’s,” he began, as he looked at her admiringly, 
and felt extremely proud to be walking beside a 
creature with wliom no one present except her own 
sister could bear comparison for good looks ; and 
even Pamela, Mr. Isaacson thought, was deficient in 
that grand air and graceful carriage which made 
Jane always “look lilie somebody,” as simple folk 
express it. 

“Yes, they are very well laid out,” said Jane 
indifferently. 

If she had been in a happier frame of mind, she 
could scarcely have failed to assent witli more 
enthusiasm ; for the walks and gardens of Mr. Fitz- 
jocelyn’s place were the prettiest in the neighbor- 
hood and were renowned in that part of the 
country. 

“ Let us go into the hot-houses,” said he. 

Jane, concluding that it was impossible to escape 
her fate, acquiesced listlessly, and they entered a 


LADY CONSTANTUVS GATtDEN-PARTY. 243 

house full of beautiful palms, of which even she was 
obliged to express admiration. 

“I will have a palm-house built, since you like it 
so much,” said Mr. Isaacson boldly. 

Jane walked on, pretending not to hear. 

They entered a fern-house, where the delicate 
varieties of maiden-hair ferns again drew from 
Jane’s lips expressions of pleasure. 

“ Which sorts do you like best ? ” said the persist- 
ent Isaacson, as he drew out a note-book and pen- 
cil. “The names are on them; if you will dictate 
them I will jot them down.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care to do that,” said Jane, as she 
passed on. 

Everywhere it was the same ; she could not ad- 
mire a shrub without his saying he would get one 
like it ; nor pause to inhale the scent of a rose with- 
out his taking note of the species. In desperation 
she at last expressed admiration of a bed of cab- 
bages. 

“You won’t want to grow those, I suppose,” she 
added, rather petulantly. 

Mr. Isaacson stopped and struck a gently remon- 
strant attitude. 

“You ought not to sneer at me,” he said; “you 
ought at least to be touched by my devotion.” 

Jane, whose spirit was at last roused, flushed as 
she answered him : 

“ It isn’t devotion,” she said. “ Or at least it’s 
not so much devotion as obstinacy.” 

“ Well, well, I don’t care what you call it, as long 
as it has the desired effect. I want you to be my 


244 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


wife, Miss Jane. I won’t refuse you anything^, and 
if I am a Jew, as you accused me of being the other 
day, why, you know that Jews make good hus- 
bands.” 

“ How can you trouble me about things like this, 
when jmu know that we are living on a volcano just 
now, you, as well as my whole family ? ” cried Jane, 
a happy inspiration suggesting this diversion. “ Do 
you forget that we have a dangerous lunatic in the 
fain ” 

But at this word Mr. Isaacson started so vio- 
lently that Jane stopped short. He was looking into 
the bushes a few yards in front of him. 

“What’s the matter ?” asked Jane. 

And then a sudden horror fell upon her. For her 
companion’s eyes were still fixed upon the same 
spot, and his rosy complexion had grown livid. 

“ It was your talking about lunatics,” he said, try- 
ing to laugh, but still looking intently at the bushes. 
“ You almost made me fancy — Oh, well, never mind ; 
it was only fancy, and so — shall we turn back and 
go as far as the marquee ? You would like a cup of 
tea, would you not?” And Jane having agreed, 
rather thankful that something had happened to 
divert the current of her companion’s thoughts, he 
suddenly broke out : “ Your brother is safely shut 
up, I think you said ? ” 

“I don’t know about safehf^ she returned frankly, 
“ but he is shut up. Why ? ” 

“ Well, because I had a ridiculous fancy that I saw 
ahead, or a hand, or something moving just now 
among the shrubs.” 


LADY CONSTANTIA^ S GARDEN-PARTY, 245 

Jane started. 

“ Oh, and you know that he has a grudge against 
you. You had really better take care, Mr. Isaacson, 
for ” 

“ Oh,” said he with a laugh, “ you don’t suppose I 
should trouble about him on my own account. Miss 
Jane. It is on your account, entirely on yours. He 
has attempted to injure you once, and he might 
do so again.” 

They were approaching the marquee, but at this 
point of the conversation they suddenly came to a 
little nook where a few seats were arranged beside 
a bed of monthly roses and under the shade of some 
tall trees. Mr. Isaacson suggested to Jane that she 
sliould sit here and that he would bring her a cup 
of tea. She, delighted to get a few moments to 
herself, and hoping for a chance of escape from him, 
consented. 

No sooner, however, had he left her, than a slight 
noise made her look round. 

She saw nothing but trees and evergreens. Be- 
lieving that she was haunted by nervous fears only, 
and rather ashamed of them, she did not leave the 
nook, as her first impulse had inclined her to do, but 
remained standing very still, with her heart beating 
a little faster as she considered the possibility of 
Edward’s having escaped from the cottage, and 
found his way here, to make a scene among all the 
people. 

The next moment her heart was in her mouth ; 
undoubtedly she did hear a rustling and crackling 
under the ti'ees, and she was hardly sure of this fact 


246 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


when she saw a stealthy hand draw down a branch 
of laurel and felt that a pair of eyes she could not 
see were fixed upon her. 

“ Edward ! ” she gasped. 

Jane was not naturally brave. It was only by a 
great effort that she stood her ground. But she felt 
that in the interest of everybody and at the risk of 
her own safety she must speak with him and do her 
best to persuade him to retire without being seen 
by other eyes than hers. 

“ Edward ! ” she repeated. 

The branches of the laurel parted suddenly, and 
there appeared a face so terrible in its livid ferocity, 
with starting, staring eyeballs and lips drawn apart 
to show clenched teeth, that she remained rooted to 
the spot, too much frightened to cry out, even if she 
had wished to. 

It was Edward, the creature who now came 
stealthily out, walking slowly like a cat, with bent 
back and hands raised close to his face and curved 
like claws, was her brother, mad now beyond a doubt, 
— mad and dangerous. For he was coming towards 
her with mischievous if not murderous intent, draw- 
ing his breath quickly like an enraged animal, 
preparing himself for a spring. But now she dared 
not move. Rightly or wrongljq she felt that if once 
she moved her eyes from his face and turned to 
escape, he would spring upon her, and fling her to the 
ground. Fascinated with horror, she watched him, 
therefore, for what seemed an hour ; when suddenly 
upon her grateful ears fell the sound of footsteps 
approaching across the grass. She knew they were 


LADY CONSTANTLVS G AUDEN-PARTY. 247 

those of Mr. Isaacson, returning with her cup of tea. 
Never had she expected to hail his coming with so 
much joy. 

She knew that he had a corner to turn, that he 
had not yet seen Edward. She felt that she must 
keep her eyes still fixed upon the lunatic until her 
rescuer, in the shape of the hitherto detested Isaac- 
son, was by her side. 

One moment more : he was there. 

“Have I been long. Miss Jane?” said his voice 
persuasively in her ear. 

At last daring to move, Jane turned SAviftly 
towards him. 

“ Oh ! ” burst from her lips — an ejaculation full of 

joy- 

But Mr. Isaacson, alas ! was unprepared. If he 
had been given half a minute more, he might per- 
haps have screwed his courage to the sticking point, 
and have won his hitherto reluctant beauty with one 
hold movement. Unhappily that half minute was 
not his. As soon as he caught sight of Edward, and 
saw the lunatic transfer his wild stare of hatred and 
revenge from Jane to him, his courage fled. Drop- 
ping the cup of tea, but involuntarily retaining the 
saucer in his hand, Mr. Isaacson, without a word, 
ran away. 


248 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY, 


CHAPTER XX. 

EXIT ME. ISAACSON. 

At the very moment when her insane son was 
springing forward to attack his sister Jane in 
one corner of the garden, poor Mrs. IIoad-Blean, in 
another corner, was having poured into her ears by 
Lady Constantia a tale which filled her with horror. 
Lady Constantia, though she did not own it to her- 
self, was fond of gossip and still fonder of scandal, 
and not a scrap of either could float about in the 
air of Salternes without its reaching her ears. 

She had now got hold of a story which, “ as a mat- 
ter of duty,” she Avas eager to impart to Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean ; and when she had greeted all her guests, and 
they had begun to walk about the grounds to listen 
to the Swiss Choir, and to an appallingly bad band 
of boys belonging to a charity school of her own 
organization, she took Mrs. IIoad-Blean aside with 
eyes full of what she believed to be sympathetic 
condolence. 

“ My dear,” she began, “ I have been most anx- 
ious for an opportunity to speak to you. I Avould 
have come round to you about it this morning or 
yesterday evening ; but with all the bother of pre- 
paring for this afternoon, I couldn’t find a moment. 


EXIT MB. iSAACSOX. 


249 


I have heard something about those wretched peo- 
ple which it is most important for you to hear. I 
think you did tell me your girls had given up 
taking the least notice of a St. Rhadegund young 
man ? ” 

She said this with a very searching look into the 
otlier lady’s face, a look less purely congratulatory, 
and more inquisitive than she knew. 

“Well, what about them?” asked Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean, wishing with all her heart that she could 
have given a direct answer in the affirmative. 

“ Thank goodness ! ” exclaimed Lady Constantia 
fervently. “ My dear, they are nothing better than 
hypocrites. They are all as bad as bad can be.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. IIoad-Blean a little impatiently, 
“you have never supposed them to be anything 
else, have you? And really, they have never pre- 
tended to be so very good ! ” 

“ There are degrees of badness ! ” replied Lady 
Constantia, drawing back her chin and speaking 
very excitedly. “The eldest, Richard, seems to 
have the very lowest.” 

“ What has he done now ? ” asked Mrs. IIoad-Blean 
rather pettishly. She was tired to death of the 
St. Rhadegunds, and she wished them all under 
the sea. 

“ Perhaps you will able to answer that when you 
have heard what I am going to tell you,” replied 
Lady Constantia, who did not like the tone her 
friend was taking with her. “ I told you about a 
woman and child who have been seen about here, 
and that the woman let it be known that she had 


250 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


come to look for a man who, she said, had married 
her. Well, the. husband, or the man she calls her 
husband, is this Richard St. Rhadegund.” 

“ What ! Oh, no ! Impossible ! ” cried poor Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean. 

But she knew that it was not impossible, and 
tears of distress, anxiety, and mortification sprang 
to her eyes. Her Pamela, her beautiful, high- 
spirited Pamela, to have had anything to do with 
this scandalous monster! It was too awful, too 
terrible ! 

“ Oh, dear, no, it is not impossible,” said Lady 
Constantia suavely. “ He has been seen with the 
woman again and again, and heard trying to persuade 
her to go away. The last thing I heard was that she 
was lying ill at some place a short distance away 
from here ; that he was visiting her and paying for 
her there.” 

“ He can scarcely be visiting her now,” said Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean coldly. For Pamela’s sake the good 
lady found herself siding with Hick against her in- 
formant. “ He is lying ill at the Red Farm. How- 
ever, ill or well, his movements don’t concern me. 
I have sent Mr. St. Rhadegund an intimation that if 
he wishes to give up the place before the end of his 
term, I shall be quite willing for him to do so, and I 
have no doubt that in a few weeks we shall be rid 
of them altogether.” 

“The sooner the better, my dear,” said Lady 
Constantia dryly. 

The words were not o^it of her mouth when, as 
both she and Mrs. Hoad-Blean turned to go back to 


EXIT MR. ISAACSON. 251 

the principal lawn, they were surprised by a most 
unusual spectacle. 

It was that of a stout gentleman, on the verge 
of middle age, running as fast as he could towards 
them with an empty saucer in one hand, and the 
marks of desperate alarm on his features. 

“ Mr. Isaacson ! ” cried Mrs. IIoad-Blean. “ What 
is the matter with the man ? ” 

At that moment a shrill scream startled her and 
the rest of the people present. From the very nook 
out of which they had seen Mr. Isaacson issue, they 
saw Jane stagger backwards. She was in full view 
of her mother. Lady Constantia, and a great number 
of the guests ; these all saw her stop short, saw her 
hands drop to her side, and saw the girl recover 
herself, as she turned and found a crowd ap- 
proaching her. 

Everybody in the grounds had heard her scream ; 
and in a very few moments she was surrounded by 
an interested and curious group, which was rein- 
forced every moment by fresh arrivals, until hostess 
and host, guests, and the very maids from the re- 
freshment marquee, had all assembled round the 
spot, where there was nothing to see but one pale 
and trembling girl. 

“ What was it ? ” “ Did any one frighten you ? ” 
“ You are not hurt, are you ? ” 

These and similar questions were being rained 
upon Jane, who, however, answered none of them 
very clearly until Lady Constantia, a striking figure 
in her heliotrope silk gown with salmon-colored 
trimmings, bore down upon the crowd, parted 


252 


A TEUBIBLE FAMILY. 


them, and, as it were, took the frightened girl in 
tow. 

In answer to her peremptory questions, Jane, at 
last, laughing faintly, said that it was nothing, that 
she had thought she saw some one among the shrubs, 
a face 

“ Whose ? ” asked Lady Constantia sharply. 

Jane faltered, and at last, in a low voice, said she 
had seen one of the St. Rhadegunds look over the 
wall. As the boundary wall between Salternes 
Court and the Priory grounds was close to this spot, 
the answer seemed at first sight to solve the mys- 
tery, and Lady Constantia had angrily expressed 
her o]3inion that it w^as “ that peex)ing Tom again ! ” 
when one of the few people, who were still lingering 
near cried out that there was a knife on the ground. 

The crowd grew thick again immediately. For 
there was no doubt about it ; there on the grass, 
under the evergreens, was an ordinary table-knife, 
which Lady Constantia’s sharp eyes immediately 
recognized as one of her own. 

“ It has been stolen from the marquee ! ” she ex- 
claimed, and at once returned in that direction. 

Her movement of course sent all the curious 
maids scurrying back to their places. And the first 
two Avho reached the marquee rent the air with 
piercing shrieks. As, however, strong-armed Eng- 
lish maid-servants are frequently among the bravest 
of their sex, there happened to be one of those two 
who did not content herself with screaming. She 
rushed behind the table, and seizing a young man, 
with hair all rough, and his hands cut and bleeding, 


EXIT MB. ISAACSON. . 


25S 


whom she found in the act of escaping under the 
canvas at the back, she held him until her mistress 
came up, when half a dozen of the lads present 
struggled for the honor of helping her with her 
prisoner. 

They dragged the wretch to his feet, and amid 
the amazement of the assembly and of themselves, 
disclosed the fact that their captive was Jim St. 
Rhadegund. 

“ I want to speak to Mrs. IIoad-Blean,” said he, 
looking very red and very angry. 

But Lady Constantia looked upon the request as 
an outrage. Telling him tartly that nobody wanted 
any explanation from him, that all they desired was 
his immediate and permanent absence, she informed 
him sharply that unless he at once left the grounds 
of his own accord she Avould have him forcibly 
ejected. So Jim, quickly hiding his lacerated hands 
under his coat, bowed without a word, and after 
one wistful, reproachful glance at Jane, who was 
being held back by force between her mother and 
sister, he walked out of the grounds, not in a shame- 
faced, hurried manner, but with his head erect, and 
the step of a man Avho thinks rather well of himself 
than otherwise. 

As Lady Constantia remarked, his effrontery was 
amazing. 

“ He actually wanted to insist upon speaking to 
you, my dear,” said Lady Constantia to Mrs. lload- 
Blean, with almost a tone of reproach. 

“ Did he ? ” burst from Pamela’s lips. She had 
not yet been able to exchange a single word apart 


^54 


A teubible family. 


with Jane, but she had a very shrewd suspicion 
who the real author of the mischief was, and was 
most anxious to know what Jim had done with him. 
Jane whispered to her mother that she would like 
to go home, that she wanted to speak to her. But 
at that very moment, Mr, Isaacson, very much 
ashamed of himself, and most anxious to retrieve 
his lost position, came up to them and asked Jane 
if she had quite recovered from her fright. 

“ I thought you were ill, or faint,” he said, ‘‘ and 
I was hurrying in search of Mrs. Hoad-Blean when 
I heard you scream, and ” 

Jane interrupted him with a haughty little laugh. 
She wanted no help, no encouragement, to dismiss 
him, now that she thoroughly despised him. 

“ I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Isaacson, 
for your services ; I shall not require them any 
more now, or at any future time.” 

And, with a bow and a supercilious little smile 
which cut him to the quick, Jane turned her back 
upon him and gently forced her mother to walk 
away with her. 

The money-lender knew too much of the world 
not to understand that, as far as Jane and the hopes 
he had built upon marriage with her Avere concerned, 
he was a lost man. He had an uneasy feeling, too, 
that his unfortunate action had been observed by 
others, who put an unkind construction on it. He 
remained very little longer in the grounds, and as 
he left Salternes Court that afternoon, he felt that 
the doors of the county families, which he had 
seemed to see ajar, were again closed against him, 


EXIT MR. ISAACSON. 


255 


and that his social ambitions as well as his amorous 
inclinations, must now find an outlet in another part 
of the country. 

Pamela had witnessed the discomfiture of Mr. 
Isaacson, with mixed feelings. She had rather liked 
him for his kindness, and admired him for his per- 
sistency ; and if Jane had quarreled hopelessly with 
Jim, it would have been better, Pamela thought, to 
be on with a new love,” and forget him. So she 
gave a little sigh, as Jane and her mother walked 
away together, and left her standing by herself. 

The sigh had scarcely escaped her lips when she 
heard a voice in her ear. 

“ Miss Pamela, you are not all going away so soon ! 
Don’t let Mrs. IIoad-Blean take you away.” 

“ Y — yes, we must go.’ Jane hasn’t got over her 
fright yet, and she won’t care to stay any longer.” 

“ Oh, that was nothing. Only a trick of one of 
the young St. Rhadegund’s. Not in very good taste, 
but what can you expect from such awful cads ? ” 

“ They are not cads,” said Pamela, sharply ; 
“ there was an explanation, of course, but he was 
given no time to explain. He ought to have been 
listened to.” 

Alfred, anxious to conciliate Pamela, agreed with 
her in this. 

“Yes, he ought to have been allowed to speak 
certainly.” 

“ He asked to see my mother, and she ought to 
have heard what he had to say. It may have been 
very important,” she went on. 

“ Well, it can’t be helped now,” said Alfred. 


250 


A TlJPililBLE FAMILY. 


Pamela, who was moving in the direction of her 
mother and sister, stopped short and looked at him. 

“Yes, it could,” she answered quickly, “if you 
cared to do me kindness.” 

“ A kindness ! ” cried he eagerly. “ Only give me 
the chance ! ” 

Pamela was all gentleness, all persuasiveness, in 
a moment. 

“ Will you then go after him and ask him to write 
his explanation in a note, for me to give to my 
mother ? ” 

Alfred’s face fell at this. It is one thing to offer 
to do a girl a kindness, and another to find that that 
kindness would involve your carrying a written 
communication to her from a man handsomer than 
yourself. 

“ If he wants her to know, he can send her a note 
without my having to go for it, and to give it to you,” 
he objected. “There’s the post, and the cost of 
transmission of a note is only one penny, or a half- 
penny if he can write it on a post-card.” 

‘‘Oh, very well, it is of no consequence,” said 
Pamela haughtily. 

“ I’ll go,” said he. “ But ” as Pamela turned 

eagerly round to thank him, “ the postman gets paid ; 
a special messenger ought to get paid still better. 
Will you — will you let me come round and see 
you this evening ? ” 

Pamela frowned; she had been beautifully dis- 
couraging all the afternoon, and now she was afraid 
of exciting groundless hopes. 

“ You can call upon mamma whenever you like, of 


EXIT MR. ISAACSOX. 


257 


course, if you want to see her with any message from 
Lady Constantia for instance. I can’t give you an 
invitation myself, of course.” 

“ But will you he any kinder to me than you have 
been this afternoon ? ” 

“ Xo,” said Pamela, looking down, in a tone decided 
enough for the most obtuse admirer to understand. 

“ I’ll do it all the same,” said Alfred magnanimously. 

Pamela saw him leave the grounds at once, by a 
side entrance which led to a short cut to the Priory. 
Mrs. IIoad-Blean wished to go, being Avorried, dis- 
tressed, and anxious to have a talk Avith both her 
daughters. But Lady Constantia delayed her for a 
short time, to discuss some pet project of her OAvn for 
the elevation of the surrounding humanity to her 
OAvn level, in Avhich she Avanted the co-operation of 
the ladies of the neighborhood. 

By the time they left the grounds, therefore, Alfred 
had fulfilled his mission, and Avas on his Avay back. 
He met them on the road, therefore, and, emboldened 
by the service he Avas rendering her, he drew a little 
Avay behind Mrs. Hoad-Blean, Avith a glance at 
Pamela to intimate that he had something for her 
oAvn ear. Accordingly she too dropped a little behind 
the others. They Avere just coming to the point Avhere 
the by-road to Salternes Court joins the high-road. 
They heard a vehicle coming along this road, and they 
all dreAV on one side, lest it should be coming round 
the corner toAvards them. To the astonishment of 
the Avhole party and the horror of Pamela, the cart, 
Avhen it came in sight, proA^ed to be one belonging 
to ]\Ir. Finch of the Red Farm ; and sitting beside 
17 


258 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


Mr. Finch looking very ill, was Dick St. Rhacle- 
guncl himself. He saw them, and Mr. Finch drew 
rein. Pamela w^as springing forward with a cry. 
Just at that moment she had taken eagerly from 
Alfred’s hand the note he had brought from Jim. It 
was in her hand as she ran forward. Dick had seen 
the action, the taking of the note, as Alfred, who had 
caught sight of him before Pamela, had intended him 
to do. But before she could advance half a dozen 
steps, her mother’s hand seized and held her. 

“ You will not speak to him. I forbid it,” she 
said in a low voice, but with so much firmness that 
Pamela dared not try to disobey. 

With one imploring look at Dick, she stopped. 
But Dick would give no sign of recognition but a 
frown. 

“ Drive on,” he said shortly. 


WITHIN THE PBIOBY WALLS, 


259 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WITHIN THE PRIORY WALLS. 

Mechanically Pamela gave her hand to Alfred, 
who whispered, as he took his leave, that he would 
see her that evening. Though she smiled and mur- 
mured some words more civil than he had expected, 
she did not know what they were. On the previous 
day she had seen Dick, and he had apparently had 
then no intention of leaving his room for some days 
to come. And now she saw him driving out. She 
knew enough about him not to be surprised at his 
looking angry to see her with Alfred ; she knew that 
he was inclined to be jealous and that he would be 
angry with her for her failure to visit him that morn- 
ing. Where could he be going ? 

Upon Mrs. Hoad-Blean the sight of Dick St. 
Rhadegund produced an effect of extreme irritation. 
She hurried her daughters home, and told them 
shortly, as soon hs they were inside the house, that 
she had heard something about Richard St. Rhade- 
gund which made it impossible for her to allow 
Pamela to have anything more to do with him. 

« Mamma,” said Pamela gently, but firmly, you 
« must tell me what it is. You can §ee that that 15 
only fair to me anfi to him,” 


260 


A TERRIBLE FAMIL Y. 


“ Oh, as for him, I don’t trouble myself about him. 
If you wish to know what I have heard, it is simply 
this : he has a wife already and a child, and they 
have come down here in search of him.” 

For a few moments poor Pamela looked very 
white, very much distressed. This sudden drive, 
when he was still unfit to move, was mysteri- 
ous enough to trouble lier. But she was a brave 
girl, and not the sort of person to give in quickly, 
nor to withdraw her faith easily, where she had 
once given it. So that even before she had quite 
quenched the fearful doubts in her heart, she said 
stoutly : 

“ I don’t believe it. It’s some story of Lady Con- 
stantia’s.” 

“Lady Cons tantia could have no object in making 
up such a' story. If untrue, it could be disproved in 
a moment,” said her mother, who, ,/pstqad of going 
upstairs to take off her bonnet, qr sitting down to 
rest, was standing with her hand upoq the door- 
handle. 

“ Are you going out again, mamma ? ” asked Jane 
rather timidly. 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean fiushed a little. 

“ I think I will go just a little way. My head 
aches, and I had better be out in the air a little 
longer, I think,” said she in some confusion. 

Now Mrs. IIoad-Blean, after a little extra fatigue, 
was wont to go at once to lie down, as she was far 
from strong. Therefore the girls exchanged glances, 
knowing at once that she had her suspicions as to 
the real culprit of that afternoon, and that she was 


WITHIN THE PRIORY WALLS. 261 

going to the cottage where she kept him concealed to 
see whether he had escaped. 

“Mamma,” said Jane, coming softly up to her, and 
speaking in a caressing voice, “ don’t go. I have 
something to tell you, something that will trouble 
you very much to hear, I’m afraid.” 

In the mean time Pamela had torn open the 
note given to her by Alfred, and had read these 
words : 

“ Dear Madam, 

“ I was looking over the wall between the 
Priory and Court grounds just now, when I saw 
Edward Blean crawling along among the evergreens 
with three or four knives in his hand. 

“ I watched liim, and saw him rush out upon his 
sister. I jumped over the wall, pulled him back, 
got the knives away, and saw him get over the wall 
into the Prior " (rounds when the people began to 
crowd up ; I putting back the knives in the 
marquee when I was caught myself. I couldn’t 
give an explanation before all those people. My 
father was in the grounds. I don’t suppose he let 
him go. 

“ Yours truly, 

“James St. Riiadegund.” 

When Jane had read this note, which was directed 
to nobody, and might be intended either for her or 
her mother, she went over to the latter and said : 

“ Mamma, we must tell you something dreadful. 
Can you bear to hear it ? ” 


262 


A TEERIBLi: FAMILY. 


The mother snatched the note from her hand, 
read it, and uttered a moan of despair. 

“ My hoy, my hoy ! If that wretch has got him, 
we are all lost.” 

The girls could not quite agree in this view, so 
they said nothing. Indeed, almost before they had 
collected their thoughts enough to make a remark, 
their mother was already out of the house on her 
way to St. Domneva’s Priory. 

Her first glance at the face of the servant who 
opened the door convinced Mrs. Hoad-Blean that 
her fears were well-founded. The man seemed un- 
easy at the sight of her, more uneasy still when she 
asked if Mr. St. Rhadegund was at home. He said 
he was not sure, and showed her into the drawing- 
room. She had been several times to the Priory 
during the earlier months of her tenant’s stay ; hut 
since the first dissensions arose between the two 
families her visits had ceased. Sp • paced up and 
down the room, full of miserable^ Hety, starting 
at the slightest sound, until a heavy tread outside 
told her that the man whom she now regarded as 
her most dreaded enemy was close at hand. The 
next moment the door was thrown open, and Mr. 
St. Rhadegund, with his face set like a rock, en- 
tered the room. 

“ Mr. St. Rhadegund ! My son 

She was too much agitated to say more. He 
replied, in a voice which was hard and rasping. 

“ Your son, madam, is in safer care than he has 
been for the last six months, or since he had the ill- 
luck to go off ’is ’ead. I’m very sorry for you, ’tisn’t 


WITHIN THE PE TORY WALLS. 263 

no fault of yours ; but you’ve clone wrong to let ’im 
go about, an’ it’s a mighty good thing he’s done no 
more ’arm than what he has.” 

“You are keeping him here, then? But you have 
no right to keep him. By what right do you 
dare ” 

Mr. St. Ithadegund waved his hand as if her 
haughty words were so many flies buzzing about in 
the air. 

“ Every man ’as the right to keep a lunatic from 
doin’ any ’arm until he’s been placed where he’ll be 
better looked after still.” 

“ You mean you will give him up to the police ?” 
cided the mother, divided between indignation and 
terror. 

“Not if you act like the sensible woman as I 
used to take you for. Look ’ere, ma’am. This son 
of yours is insane, an’ you know it as well as I do ; 
’e’s tried to kill ,’is sister, ’e’s ’alf-murdered one o’ 
my sons, ’e’s threatened the same sister with a 
knife, an’ now he^s nearly cut my boy Jim’s hands 
to pieces. Do you mean to tell me, in the face of 
all that, you think ’e’s fit to be about ? ” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean, trembling, kept her eyes on 
the ground. 

“ He has been irritated,” she said. “ He has been 
in bad hands lately, and has been encouraged to 
drink more than he ought to. He would be perfectly 
safe if he were allowed to go quietly away with 
me.” 

“Sorry to be obliged to differ with you there, 
ma’am. How, please listen to reason : I mean to 


264 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


keep ’im ’ere, where we can keep ’im close, till he’s 
been seen by two doctors, as the law says. You can 
send your own doctor for one if you like. If they 
say ’e’s right in. the ’ead, you shall take ’im back 
with you and welcome. If they say contrary, why, 
you must send ’im to a ’sylum. If you don’t agree to 
that at once I’ll send for a policeman to take ’im up 
on the warrant.” 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean knew she was at war with a will 
against which she was powerless. 

“You must do as you please,” she said, in a tone 
full of mortification. “ This is your last stroke, I 
suppose. You and your sons have ruined the hap- 
piness of my family.” 

“ Stuff an’ nonsense, ma’am. There’s been some 
’arc! ’itting on both sides, but you come off no worse 
than we do. If you’ve lost a son that was no good, 
I have gone nigh to losing one as was worth fifty 
thousand of ’im, beside gettin’ another one damaged 
so ’e’ll ’ave to be fed like a baby till ’is ’ands get 
well.” 

“ Of course it is useless for me to argue with you, 
because our standard of conduct is not likely to be 
the same,” said Mrs. Hoad-Blean, in a voice trem- 
bling with anger. “ But it certainly is rather aston- 
ishing to me that a man can make light of his son’s 
engaging himself to a young girl, when he has al- 
ready a wife living and a child.” 

Mr. St. Rhadegund’s face changed, and became 
even sterner than before. 

“I don’t understand you, ma’am. Say straight 
out who you mean, and what you mean.” 


WITlim THE PBIOEY WALLS. 


265 


“ I mean that your son Richard has engaged him- 
self to my daughter Pamela, when it’s well known 
in the village that he meets a woman with a child 
who says she’s his wife, and that the child is his 
daughter.” 

“ It’s the first I’ve ’card of this,” said the old man 
shortly. “ Maybe it’s true he is married, but if so 
’is wife wouldn’t ’ave ’ad to come after ’im. Dick 
might keep from ’is father what ’is father ought to 
know, but ’e’d never leave a woman to starve, Avife or 
no Avife. An’ mark this, ma’am : if the Avoman’s ’is 
AAufe, ’e’s not engaged to your daughter. My boys 
may be fools, an’ there must be a bit o’ that in ’em, 
or they’d never ’ave gone after girls that Avere your 
’usband’s daughters or your son’s sisters; but my 
boys aren’t scoundrels, an’ I ’ope for your sake and 
your daughters’, you’ll get sons-in-laAV ’alf as good 
or ’alf as good-lookin’ as my boys.” 

“I don’t trouble myself about that,” returned the 
lady hpughtily. “ My only trouble is lest either of 
my girls should be prevailed upon to marry one of 
your sons.” 

“ I’ll do my best for you, I assure you,” said Mr. 
St. Rhadegund with spirit. ‘‘ If either of my boys 
should marry one of your girls. I’ll give ’mi a pick 
an’ a spade an’ ’is steerage fare out to Manitoba, an’ 
I’ll never' set eyes on ’im again nor let ’im touch 
another dollar of my money. Will that do for you, 
ma’am ! ” 

“ Perfectly,” returned Mrs. Hoad-Blean as, with a 
sweeping bow, she left the room. 

She returned home in a fiutter of excitement, in a 


266 


A TEBRIBLE FAMILY, 


whiiiTvind of rage. Jane met her, hut she asked 
sharply for Pamela. Jane hesitated, stammered, 
and the truth came out. 

“I know,” said her mother with more bitterness 
than Jane had ever heard in her voice, “ she’s gone 
to see that miserable scamp at the Red Farm ! ” 

Jane could not deny it. And as she listened 
with burning cheeks to her mother’s account of 
Mr. St. Rhadegund’s insulting threats, the girl felt 
her own pride rise as high as her mother’s, and she 
felt bitterly ashamed of the kisses she had given 
Jim on that well- remembered evening. 

Pamela had only waited for her mother to leave 
the house, before she had started for the Red Farm. 
Wherever Dick had gone, she said to herself, Mr. 
Finch would not allow him to remain out long 
while he was still so far from strong ; so she reck- 
oned that long before she could tramp on foot across 
the fields to the farm, the gig'would have returned. 
She had to keep to the fields, even when she would 
have preferred the better walking in the high-road, 
for she did not want to meet the carriages contain- 
ing Lady Constantia’s guests returning homewards. 

The day had been a dull one, and now a light rain 
began to fall, greatly to the disadvantage of Pamela’s 
simple finery. By the time she reached the farm- 
house, the pretty black hat was growing limp, and 
the pretty frock was showing rain spots. 

“ Is Mr. St. Rhadegund in yet ? ” she asked of the 
maid who opened the door. 

“No, ma’am,” answered the maid, who was very 
much interested in the little romance which was 


WITHIN THE PRIOnr WALLS, 


267 


going on under her mistress’s roof, but who was not 
largely endowed with brains. Mr. St. Khadegund’s 
drive was a subject of gossip in the household, and 
she could not resist the opportunity of telling what 
she knew about it. 

“ He was not, as you may say, well enough to 
go out at all, ma’am,” said she, brimful of interest. 
“ We hadn’t thought as he’d go out for some days 
yet, though he’s going on nicely enough. But this 
afternoon, ma’am, a girl came saying as how she 
was come from a woman who lay dying, with her 
little girl all alone. And the girl that came said as 
how the woman wanted to see Mr. St. Ehadegund, 
if he’d be so good as come. And when he heard 
that, he had the girl in and spoke to her himself, 
an’ then he begged Mr. Finch to let him go. An’ at 
first the master said no, but I beb'eve he thought 
that not going would worrit ]Mr. St. Khadegund an’ 
make him worse than goin’ out : so he orders the 
gig an’ drives him himself.” 

Pamela listened very quietly. Then she asked after 
Mrs. Finch and the children, and was glad to hear 
that the lady was out. She wanted to get back 
home, she wanted time to think But she was 
brave enough, in all her trouble, to go through the 
ordinary forms of civilized life, to make the proper 
inquiries, and to start on her homeward journey 
with a staunch bearing. 

But Pamela was one of those impulsive creatures 
who find ready relief in tears, and before she had 
crossed the field they were fiowing fast. 

What could she thmk now but that the story was 


2G8 


A TElilUBLE FAMILY. 


true, the story which she had jDut down to Lady Con- 
stantia’s malice ? She felt that there was just the 
possibility that she might have to go on loving him 
still ; but at any rate he should not know it. 

Although the rain had left off, the day was so 
dull that evening fell quickly, and by the time she 
reached home it was dusk in the little street. 

Her mother herself opened the door to her, with a 
cold, angry face. She reproached the girl for her 
expedition, and told her the words old Mr. St. 
Hhadegund had used on the subject of her and of 
Jane. 

Pamela burst out laughing hysterically. 

“ Then thank Providence, mamma,” said she, “ that 
I did make that expedition. For it has given me 
the spirit to tell Dick St. Rhadegund I don’t care a 
straw for him, even if it breaks my heart ! ” 

Afraid of breaking down into the tears that were 
so ready to come, Pamela ran 'upstairs, aching and 
longing for the sympathetic words and touch of her 
sister Jane. 


DlCK^S VILLAINY. 


269 


CHAPTER XXIT. 
dick’s villainy. 

Pamela and Jane were not left long in the melan- 
choly enjoyment of exchanging confidences on the 
subject of their love troubles. They had to dress for 
dinner, and to get through it in haste ; for Pamela 
had told her mother that Alfred Fitzjocelyn was 
coming. Mrs. IIoad-Blean was delighted to hear 
this, as it seemed to foreshadow the possibility of 
a match on which she had long ago set her heart. 
What more triumphant reply could be made to old 
St. Rhadegund’s contemptuous remarks concerning 
her daughters, than the announcement that one of 
them was about to make the best match of the 
year in that part of the world ? 

Pamela herself, however, her mother was grieved 
to see, was not in a fascinating mood. When Alfred 
came, she left the task of entertaining him to Jane 
and her mother, and took refuge at the piano. Mrs. 
IIoad-Blean was still brooding over the fate which 
menaced her son. Jane had not recovered from her 
grief at the injury Jim had received in her defense at 
Edward’s hands, so that Alfred was enjoying himself 
with a very chastened joy when there was a ring at 
the outer door, followed by the appearance of a 


270 -A TEUlilBLE FAynLY, 

maid, who said something in a low voice to Mrs. 
Hoad-Blean. 

“ Mr. Richard St. Rhadegund, ma’am, wishes to 
speak to you. He wouldn’t come in here, so I’ve 
shown him into the dining-room, ma’am.” 

Jane, who overheard the words, glanced at her 
sister. She saw by her face that Pamela also had 
caught the words, though she did not look up or 
leave off playing. 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean excused herself and left the 
room. 

She found Dick in the dining-room, leaning 
against the table, looking white and ill. 

Mrs. IIoad-Blean was suffering too much from 
mortification from the father to be compassionate to 
the son. He made a step forward, as if hoping she 
would shake hands with him ; but she only bent her 
head very stiffly, and said:,. 

“ I am sorry you have called in your present state 
of health, as it makes my reception of you seem un- 
kind. But I had hoped never to see you or any of 
your family again.” 

Dick paused for a moment, breathing heavily. 

‘‘Never mind my health,” said he in the husky 
voice of extreme weakness, “ I am a man, ill or well; 
and can bear what a man may. But I want to see 
Pamela.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean, alarmed by his evident weak- 
ness, offered him a chair. He shook his head, and 
went on : 

“ I have just seen my father. I have heard about 
your visit, and know it was a painful one for you.” 


BICR^S VILLAINY. 


271 


Mrs. Hoacl-Blean laughed shortly. 

“ Painful ! ” she interrupted. “ I was received by 
your father with cruelty and insult which I can never 
forget. Not satisfied with impertinence to me, he 
spoke insultingly of my daughters. Fortunately, 
my girls have spirit enough to treat men whose 
attentions are disgraceful as they deserve.” 

“ How can any words of my father’s make my at- 
tentions disgraceful, or Jim’s either?” asked Dick 
simply. “ You are evading the point, Mrs. Blean. 
You wouldn’t treat me like this on my father’s 
account, I know. Now come, what have you got to 
say to me ? ” 

He looked down straiglitforwardly into her eyes, 
his habitual solidity of manner giving weight and 
directness to his speech. 

Poor Mrs. IIoad-Blean was amazed at his effron- 
tery. 

“ I have nothing to say to you, Mr. St. Rhadegund, 
if your own conscience has nothing.” 

“ Oh, never mind my conscience ! You have heard 
some story about a woman, I believe ? ” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean drew herself up. 

“A woman and a child. Yes, Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund, I have.” 

“ And Pamela, has heard it too, of course ? ” 

“That, Mr. St. Rhadegund, is no concern of 
yours.” 

“ I beg your pardon, madam. • What Pamela 
knows or cloes not know, what Pamela believes or 
does not believe, is more my concern than anybody 
else’s. She is engaged to marry me.” 


272 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


Mrs. Hoad- Blean could scarcely speak. 

“ Is it possible,” she gasped, “ that you don’t un- 
derstand that an engagement with iny daughter is 
now totally out of the question ? ” 

“ That is our lookout. Let me see Pamela.” 

“Certainl}^ not.” 

“ Well, if I don’t see her in your presence. I’ll see 
her out of it. You don’t suppose I’m going to allow 
myself to he ridden over rough-shod like that.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean saw indeed that she was going 
too far. 

“ Surely you can see that I, as Pamela’s mother, 
have a right to an explanation of your conduct.” 

“ About the woman ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

Dick’s expression altered. 

“ I have just seen her die,” said he in a grave voice. 

Mrs. IIOad-Blean grew impatient again. 

“ And I suppose that because the poor thing is 
dead, you think it doesn’t matter.” 

' “ Well, it’s better, perhaps.” 

Mrs. Hoad-Blean pursed her lips. 

“ You take the matter very coolly,” she said. 

“ Indeed I do nothing of the kind. But the woman 
was an entire stranger to me until a fortnight ago.” 

“ Unfortunately we have heard a different story,” 
said Mrs. Hoad-Blean icily. 

“You’ve heard plenty of tittle-tattle about it, I’ve 
no doubt. You’ve heard of a poor woman with a 
child at her heels coming down here in search of a 
young man. But, Mrs. Blean, I’m not the only 
young man m the place.” 


DICK'S VILLAINY. 


273 


Mrs. IIoad-Blean made a slight movement in the 
direction of the door, as if she thought her inter- 
view with this mendacious and insolent person 
might now come to an end. 

“Mr. St. Rhadegund, your attempt to cast the 
blame on some one else's shoulders does you very 
little credit.” 

J3ut Dick got to the door first somehow, not very 
steadily. If she had thought him insolent before, it 
is difficult to imagine what she must have thought 
of him then. 

“You won’t take my downright denial then? 
What ! Do you think I would deny my own child, 
if it were my child, whether the woman was 
my wife or not? I’m afraid your male rela- 
tions have accustomed you to a low standard, 
ma’am.” 

If the sneer was a cruel one, it was now unpro- 
voked. And, to do him justice, Dick was sorry as 
soon as he had said it. She shivered a little and 
looked fixedly at the door. He opened it, and as he 
passed out, he said : 

“ I am sorry if I have said more than I ought. 
Won’t you let me see Pamela now : I sha’n’t be able 
to come out again for days.” 

“ It is impossible now. My daughters are enter- 
taining a guest.” 

“ Who ? ” asked Dick sharply. 

“Mr. Alfred Fitzjocelyn,” answered Mrs. IIoad- 
Blean, glad that the announcement would be another 
blow. 

To her surprise, Dick, who was very much ex- 
18 


274 


A TEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


hausted by his long and exciting talk, coming at the 
end of a day of unusual exertion, burst out into a 
peal of laughter. He leaned against the wall until 
it was over, and then, recovering himself, went on 
toward the front door. 

But Pamela had heard his voice, and she flung the 
drawing-room door open just as he was staggering 
past. 

“ Oh Dick, oh Dick ! ” she exclaimed, in almost a 
wailing tone, as she saw how ghastly he looked and 
with what unsteady steps he was walking. He 
stopped at once. Supporting himself against the 
wall with one hand, while with the other he warded 
off her approach, he asked abruptly : 

“ You believe this story about me, you know what 
I mean ? You believe it, of course ? I shouldn’t 
have seen you taking a note from another man if 
you had not ! ” 

“ Oh Dick ! ” was all Pamela said, as she clasped 
her hands pitifully, and looked through tears at his 
pale face. 

But he insisted, raising his voice angrily. 

“ Do you believe it ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. 
And I don’t care! Oh Dick ! ” 

Overcome by anxiety on his account, by shame 
at the shameful story, by a little doubt and by very 
much affection, Pamela covered her face with her 
hands. 

Even Mrs. Hoad-Blean, who remained unnoticed 
in the background, was touched both by her daugh- 
ter’s emotion and by Dick’s. For she could see tliat 


DICK'S VILLAINY. 275 

his hands went out lovingly and wistfully towards 
her while her eyes were covered. 

“ Look here, Pamela,” he said at last, in a whisper 
which she could scarcely catch, “ it isn’t true, not 
a word of it. Do you believe me ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then you may kiss me if you like.” 

The invitation was accepted promptly. Mrs. 
IIoad-Blean, who dared not interfere, since having 
found one of the pair as much as she could manage, 
she could not face them together, disappeared. 
They had not exchanged half a dozen words when 
the drawing-room door opened, and Alfred, having 
taken leave of Jane, and being suspicious that scenes 
of an interesting nature were taking place in the 
hall, came out. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Alfred dryly. “You’re well 
again then, Mr. St. Rhadegund ? ” 

“ Not quite,” replied Dick, whose appearance en- 
tirely confirmed his words. “ I’m out for the first 
time to-day. I’ve got Mr. Finch’s gig outside, and 
I can’t drive myself yet. Will you come with me 
a little way ? ” 

His manner, as quiet as usual, was yet so impera- 
tive that Alfred, after staring at him in astonish- 
ment for a few seconds, complied with his request. 
Pamela gave each man a very modest hand-shake, 
saw them out, and saw Mr. Finch, with many warn- 
ings to Dick that the latter was doing too much, 
give up his place in the cart to Alfred. 

“ I ought to warn you,” said Dick, when they 
had gone a little way in the direction he indicated. 


276 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ that I am going to take you to make a very un- 
pleasant visit.” 

Alfred started, and it was evident that an inkling 
of the truth had come into his mind. 

“ What do you mean ? What business is it of 
yours ? ” then he added, as he reined in the horse 
abruptly, “ I won’t see her.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Dick. 

Alfred was preparing to get out. 

“ You can’t leave me like this, can you ? ” 

Alfred looked into his face, and in the look Dick 
saw something to encourage him. 

“ Look here, be a man. You’ve got it in you, I 
think. It is a woman, and — ^but there, you know 
all about it. She came down here looking for you, 
tv/o weeks ago, very ill, with a child, your child. 
She spoke to me on the road between here and 
Eylestone, asking me for money for a night’s lodging. 
With a few questions I learned something, and learned 
also that she didn’t know how near she was to the 
home of the man she came after. I directed her to 
a village a little way off ; I thought I would let you 
know, and a scandal might perhaps be avoided. 
Then she fell ill, I suppose, for I heard no more 
till she sent for me to-day, urgently, as the only 
person she knew in the place. Of course I went. 
I saw her die.” Alfred started. “ She stuck to 
it to the last that she was your wife. Was it 
true?” 

“ Yes,” said Alfred. 

“ Then you deserve to be kicked, don’t you ? ” 

Alfred did not deny this, but began to make inco- 


DICK'S VILLAINY. 277 

herent excuses, blaming the woman. Dick cut him 
short. 

“ The child was yours ? ” 

Alfred admitted it. 

“ Then you ought to have looked after it : all the 
more that the little thing wasn’t in good hands. 
Now, what are you going to do ?” 

“ I haven’t thought about it.” 

“You must think about it. Take my advice. 
Acknowledge the child, and take her home with 


“ Oh, nonsense ! Why ” 

“ Take her home with you,” repeated Dick. 
“You’re a free man now. You can marry again. 
But you can’t deny your responsibility for the child, 
and I should hope you don’t want to. Make a clean 
breast of it : your mother adores you : if you take 
the bull by the horns the difficulty will be over in a 
minute ; if you don’t you’ll have a miserable time of 
it, with a secret to keep that’s not worth keeping, 
and always the chance of its coming out some day. 
Now will you come on with me to the cottage ?” 

Alfred, whose weakness got the support it needed 
in this unexpected friend, assented. He went to the 
cottage where his dead wife lay, saw and acknowl- 
edged his child, left money for the funeral with the 
woman of the house, and arranged to fetch away his 
child on the following day. Alfred was weak of 
nature and lax of principles, but the blame had not 
been all on his side in the affair of his unfortunate 
marriage, and he was not too corrupt to be undeserv- 
ing of sympathy. 


278 


A TERBIBLE FAMILY. 


“ By Jove ! ” he said, as he took his place again 
beside Dick in the gig, “ if anyone had told me last 
night that I should do what I have just done, I 
should have laughed at him for a lunatic. Mind, 
I’m not out of the wood. I’m in an awful funk 
as to what my mother will say, and very likely 
at the last minute I shall turn tail and hold my 
tongue.” 

“ No, you won’t,” said Dick. “ It’s been sprung 
upon you so quickly that it’ll be easy to get it all 
over while the excitement is on. And so you were 
hanging about Pamela Blean, keeping other fellows 
off, when you knew you couldn’t marry her ! ” he 
exclaimed suddenly, with tartness. 

Alfred answered very composedly : 

■ “ Well, I didn’t keep you off, at any rate, old 
chap ! Now I think of it. I’ll just make use of my 
liberty to say a few words to Pamela.” 

They were by this time back at the corner of the 
street where the IIoad-Bleans lived. Before Dick 
could remonstrate, Alfred had throAvn the reins to 
him, stopped the horse, and jumping out of the gig, 
made his way to the house they had both so lately 
left as fast as his legs would carry him. 


LADY- CONSTANTIA IS CliUSUED. 


279 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

LADY CONSTANTIA IS CRUSHED. 

The ladies were all a good deal startled by a loud 
ring at the bell when Mrs. Hoad-Blean was wishing 
her daughters good-night. 

What was their astonishment when Alfred Fitz- 
jocelyn, his face and manner expressing the highest 
excitement, dashed into the drawing-room ! 

“ What is it ? ” “ What’s the matter ? ” “ Dick 

is ill ! ” they all cried together. 

“ Mrs. Blean, Miss Pamela,” began Alfred, “ for- 
give me for coming back again at this unearthly 
hour, but I was afraid if I waited to grow cool I 
shouldn’t do it at all, and it must be done. I have 
come to tell you that Dick St. Rhadegund’s a 
splendid fellow. Perhaps you knew it. Miss Pamela, 
and that’s why you had the good taste to be so un- 
civil to me. But you didn’t, Mrs. Blean, nor did 
my mother ; so now you and she have both got to 
eat humble pie and say you’re sorry.” The ladies 
looked at him and at each other ; but Alfred con- 
tinued his panegyric : “ I won’t do you the injustice 
to suppose. Miss Pamela, that you would have had 
me when you could have had him. But let me tell 
you that if now you were ready to take me instead 


280 


A TEBRIBLE FAMILY. 


of him, now I know what he is like, I wouldn’t have 
you, I should despise you so much.” 

Though she could not help laughing, Pamela saw 
that the feeling which had prompted this odd speech 
was genuine ; and she held out her hand. 

“ Thank you,” said she, “ thank you.” 

He shook hands with her heartily, wished the 
other ladies good-night, and went out, Pamela follow- 
ing him to the hall-door. She peeped out. 

“ Has he gone home ? ” she asked. 

“IS'o, I left him in the gig at the corner.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Pamela as she took a step forward 
into the road. “ You ought not to have left him : 
the poor fellow isn’t well enough to he left alone. 
I — I think I’ll just run down and wish him good- 
night.” 

With a glance behind her to see that there was 
no frowning mamma in the doorway, Pamela ran 
down the street. Alfred, who followed her, heard 
an exclamation of distress as she reached the gig. 

“He has fainted!” she cried. “Oh, my poor 
Dick 1 ” 

“We had better take him into the Priory,” sug- 
gested Alfred. “ It won’t do to drive all the way 
back to the Red Farm with him.” 

“ Go and tell them to come out and help to carry 
him in,” assented Pamela as she climbed up in the 
gig to support Dick’s head. 

Alfred obeyed. 

But neither he nor Pamela had reckoned with old 
St. Rhadegund’s ]3rejudices, which were as obstinate 
as those of Lady Constantia herself. The old man 


LADY CONSTANTIA IS CBUSHLD. 281 

started up, full of solicitude, and told the servants 
to hurry out to fetch Master Dick in. But at the 
front door he either caught the sound of a girl’s voice 
ai the gate, or else was seized with a shrewd sus- 
picion. Telling the servants in a voice of thunder 
to “ Stop ! ” he turned sharply to Alfred and asked 
who was with his son. 

‘‘His fiancee^ Pamela Blean,” answered Alfred at 
once. 

“ Oh, his sweetheart, I suppose you mean,” said 
old St. Rhadegund in his hardest voice. “ Then he 
stops outside.” 

There wa>s a faint murmur even among the serv- 
ants. Alfred told him hotly that he w^as an old 
brute, and ought to he ashamed of himself ; then, 
without further waste of time, he returned to the 
gig and reported his ill-success. 

“ That’s nonsense,” said Pamela, promptly. “ He 
must take in his own son : we’ll make him.’’ 

can’t do anything. You’re not strong 
enough. You don’t know how heavy a hig man like 
that is,” objected Alfred. 

“I’m strong enough to help to carry my poor 
Dick,” said Pamela. “ Try me.” 

Very carefully, and not without difficulty, they got 
Dick down from the gig and between them managed 
to carry him up the garden to the house. Before 
they reached the front door, however, Jim and Bob, 
who had been sent for by the servants, ran out to 
help them. Old Mr. St. Rhadegund, who was still 
standing in the doorway, no longer refused his eldest 
son admission. But he looked coldly at Pamela, and 


282 


A TIJBIiiBLE FAJIIzr. 


when she came out of the room where they had laid 
him, after seeing him recover consciousness, the old 
man said to her : 

“You know what you’re bringing upon him, I 
suppose? You know that if he sticks to you, he'll 
be turned out a beggar as soon as he gets well?” 

“ Then he’ll only begin where his father did,” re- 
turned Pamela with spirit. “ But I hope he’ll never 
get on so well, if it makes him grow as hard.” 

“ Very pretty spirit, I’m sure,” sneered the old 
man. “ But you’ll sing a different tune, my young 
madam, when you find yourself called upon to give 
up your fine clothes to become the wife of a work- 
ing man. Y ou’d better look after your second string, 
take my word for it.” 

And with a nod in the direction of Alfred, who 
was waiting outside for her, the old man shut the 
front door before she had taken half a dozen steps 
away from it. 

Alfred comforted her as well as he could, telling 
her that every one knew how fond and proud he 
was of his boys, and that Dick would be tenderly 
cared for enough. Even this did not satisfy Pamela 
altogether, for while it comforted her on the one 
hand, it made her jealous on the other. They would 
speak against her to him, instead of being sympa- 
thetic like the Finches. She was too miserable even 
to mind the sharp reproof her mother admmistered 
to her for this latest escapade. 

Meanwhile, Alfred, having sent the gig back to the 
Red Farm in charge of one of his father’s grooms, 


LADY CONSTANTIA IS CRUSHED. 283 

entered the house in a frightful state of trepidation. 
As he walked back, he had begun to indulge a hope 
that everybody had gone to bed, and that he should 
be able to postpone his confession until the morn- 
ing. But he found the house still brightly lighted, 
and in a state of unusual animation. The servants 
seemed to be running about a good deal, and his 
father was pacing up and down the long drawing- 
room with an anxious face. 

“What’s the matter, father?” asked Alfred. 
“ Where’s my mother ? Not ill, I hope ? ” 

“ Not ill, my boy, but we’re a good deal worried, 
both of us. Here’s Harriet nowhere to be found. It 
seems nobody has seen her since the middle of the 
afternoon. Your mother is in a fearful state ; thinks 
she’s fallen into the pond, and wants to have it 
dragged.” 

“Nonsense! She couldn’t get into the pond 
unless she threw herself in ; though I am sure the 
life she leads under the mater’s bullying is enough 
to make her do even that.” 

His father seemed rather to agree with his view. 

“ Well, well,” said he, “ we’ll hope it’s not quite 

so bad as that. I’ve an idea myself ” And he 

looked stealthily round the room, “ I didn’t suggest 
it to your mother ; but as soon as I knew she was 
out in the grounds, I carried it out. I saw her talk- 
ing very earnestly to her aunt, my sister Susan, 
early in the afternoon. So I wired to Susan myself, 
and I expect her answer every minute.” 

“ You won’t get an answer to-night. It’s too late 
to send out,” said Alfred shortly. 


284 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ Oh, I made arrangements for that. Sent a note 
to the station-master and told Jenkins to wait at 
the station till the reply came. Of course it’s only 
a chance ” 

“You think she went away with Aunt Susan, 
then?” 

“Well, you know your aunt is Harriet’s god- 
mother, and that she’s always objected to the girl’s 
being so much kept under.” 

“ By Jove ! ” exclaimed Alfred shortly. 

His father turned to look at him. 

“ Ho you know anything about it, then ? ” 

“No, oh no. Only it’s rather odd that both 
Harriet and I should get into trouble on the same 
evening.” 

Good Heavens, what have you been 
doing? But there, don’t tell me unless you like, 
and for goodness’ sake don’t tell your mother to- 
night. I shall have a nice time of it, as it is, if your 
sister doesn’t turn up ; and if you put your mother 
out too, there’ll he nothing left for me to do hut to 
go and shoot myself.” 

And the mild little gentleman, who passed his life 
in frantic endeavors to he in the left wing of the 
house when his wife was in the right, and vice versa, 
put his hands through his white hair (people did 
say he had gone prematurely gray) and stared at his 
son in pitiful dejection. 

But his pleadings were of no avail. For Lady Con- 
stantia burst into the drawing-room a few moments 
later, and at once attacked her son. Harriet, not 
being at hand to hear the brunt of her annoyance 


LADY CONSTANTIA IS CRUSHED. 285 

with things in general and her daughter in par- 
ticular, Alfred might be used as a substitute. Now 
all she had heard concerning his doings was that he 
had been seen with Dick St. Rhadegund ; but this 
was enough to arouse her displeasure, and xYlfred’s 
conscience at once led him to suppose that she had 
heard something more. 

“What is this I hear about you., Alfred?” she 
began in her usual overbearing manner, “ I shall 
be glad if you’ll give an account of your doings 
since you left us so unceremoniously directly after 
dinner? I supposed that you had gone to Lady 
Acol’s to see if she had driven Harriet back with her, 
as she did the last time she came here ; but it seems 
you were out amusing yourself without a thought 
of your mother’s worries.” 

“ Oh, perhaps the nld lady did take her,” suggested 
Alfred, putting off the evil day of confession. 

“No, for finding you did not return, I sent over to 
inquire. I repeat : what were you doing ? ” 

There was no escape. Alfred, affecting a good 
deal more ease than he felt, threw himself on the 
sofa. 

“ First,” he began in a languid tone, I went to 
the IIoad-Blean’s.” 

“ Well,” said Lady Constantia tartly, “ you didn’t 
stay there all the evening ! ” 

“ No, then I went out.” 

“Yes. But who did you go with, that’s the 
question?” 

“ With Dick St. Rhadegund.” 

Lady Constantia shuddered. 


286 


A TElimBLE FAMILY. 


“ I would have soon it had been with one of the 
grooms ! ” 

“^Yell,” returned Alfr^ed, drawling more than ever, 
“ you see I see so much of them.” 

This allusion to his fondness of the stable exas- 
perated his mother still more. / 

“ Well, and where did you go with this particularly 
desirable acquaintance ? ” 

Alfred looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. 
The blow was going to fall now, and he was growing 
reckless. 

“ I went to see my wife.” 

There was an awful silence. Mr. Fitzjocelyn sat 
up in his arm-chair, and turned quite pink. But 
Lady Constantia grew purple. 

“Your what f ” 

But her voice was quite faint. 

Alfred didn’t care a straw now ; indeed he was 
almost enjoying the sensation he was making. 

“ My wife. A girl that I picked up at a luncheon 
bar, five years ago and married.” 

“ Without consulting me ? ” 

The words slipped out of Lady Constantia’s mouth 
mechanically. Alfred saw their absurdity and 
laughed. 

“ Why, yes, mother, you would scarcely have been 
likely to give your blessing.” 

“ And you think I shall give it now ? You think 
that I shall allow this creature, whom you have 
brought to the very threshold of your parents’ house, 
to remain there?” cried Lady Constantia, whose 
helpless rage was becoming pitiful to see, as she at 


LADY CON STAN TIA IS CD U SUED. 287 

last met, in the very bosom of her family, with a 
tone of opposition. 

“You can’t prevent it,” said Alfred, rising and 
speaking more gravely. 

“ Can’t prevent it, indeed ! We’ll see about that. 
Where does this woman propose to take up her 
abode?” 

“ In the churchyard,” replied Alfred grimly, and 
not without an undercurrent of feeling in his voice. 
“ She’s dead. She was dead when I saw her. But 
she’s left a child, my child ; and look here, mother, 
unless you choose to make arrangements for her 
being properly brought up as my child and your 
grand-daughter. I’ll be hanged if I’ll ever come 
near this place again.” 

“Then you never will,” returned his mother, 
shaking with passion. “ For most certainly I shall 
make no arrangement of the sort. You may go 
away as soon as you please, and take your child 
where you please, and you will never get any more 
help from me.” 

To the astonishment no less of Alfred than of his 
mother, a voice whose mild tones they knew well 
enough, but whose decided tones they now heard for 
almost the first time, broke upon their ears. Mr. 
Fitzjocelyn had risen from his easy-chair, and 
standing on the hearth-rug, he, for once, spoke as the 
master and owner of the house. 

“Don’t give way, my boy, don’t give way. You’re 
in the right. You owe a duty to your child, and I’ll 
help you to carry it through.” 

The old gentleman spoke in such a manner that 


288 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


it was evident he meant to carry out his promise. 
Through long years of overbearing conduct and 
aggressive manner on the part of Lady Constantia, it 
had gradually become a belief on her part, on her 
husband’s and on that of everybody else, that Sal- 
ternes Court and the property generally belonged 
absolutely to her to dispose of as she pleased. This 
was an error, from which the unexpected self-asser- 
tion of the real owner woke them all with startling 
suddenness. Alfred looked at his father with eyes 
full of gratitude and respect. 

“ Thank you, father,” was all he said. 

And before Mr. Fitzjocelyn had had time to abdi- 
cate his new and startling supremacy, before Lady 
Constantia had made up her mind whether she 
should try majesty or martyrdom in this unexpected 
strait, the door opened, and a servant brought in a 
telegram. 

From force of habit the man was taking it to Lady 
Constantia, when his master’s voice startled the poor 
fellow so much by its unusual peremptoriness, that 
he nearly dropped the letter. 

“ That telegram is directed to me, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” faltered the man. 

“ Bring it to me, then.” 

Mr. Fitzjocelyn took the telegram, and read it to 
himself. As soon as the footman had left the room, 
he gave a little laugh. 

Like a strong man who reels under a blow from an 
unexpected quarter. Lady Constantia was dazed by 
the force of the surprise. It made her for the 
moment almost meek. 


LABY CONSTANTIA IS CJiUSlIEB. 


289 


“ Harriet ! Is she safe ? ” she asked. 

Mr. Fitzjocelyn laughed again. 

“I am afraid you will say not, my dear,” he 
answered as he handed her the telegram. 

It was as follows : 

“ Harriet is with me. She will remain here until 
she marries Tom St. Rhadegund.” 

“ Never, never, never ! ” cried Lady Constantia, 
falling in hysterics on the sofa while Alfred beamed 
with delight. 

“ My dear, I believe you will think better of it by 
and by,” said her husband quietly. “ You have not 
been quite judicious in your training of the girl, and 
you may think yourself lucky to have got one of 
those straightforward, manly young fellows as a son- 
in-law.” 

But Lady Constantia refused to be comforted. 
She sobbed and she sighed, and rocked herself in 
demonstrative grief. 


19 


290 


A TElllilBLE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

LADY CONSTANTIA CLIMBS DOWN. 

It was not to be expected that Lady Constantia, 
after years of unquestioned tyranny over her husband 
and family, should submit meekly to the new posi- 
tion she had been forced to take. The news of her 
daughter’s rebellion, coming close upon the revolt of 
her son, had for a time overpowered her. But when 
she had had time to think matters over, she came 
to the conclusion that there was yet a chance left of 
escape from at least one of the difficulties which had 
so suddenly presented themselves. 

There was still the hope left to her that by bring- 
ing all her forces of insolence and indignation to bear 
upon old Mr. St. Rhadegund, she might induce him 
to forbid his son’s marriage with her daughter. 

On the morning after her garden-party, therefore, 
without saying a word about her intention to her 
husband, whose opinion she had so suddenly learned 
to fear, the mistress of Salteriies Court presented 
herself at St. Domneva’s, and asked to see Mr. St. 
Rhadegund. 

The servant’s answer took her breath away. Mr. 
St. Rhadegund, said the man, had given orders that 
no more ladies were to be admitted pn any pretext 


LADY CONSTANTIA CLIMBS DOWN. 291 

whatever. Lady Constantia had the sense to see that 
she could do little against an enemy of this temper, 
and she returned to her home in a reflective mood. 

The result of her reflections was : that she went 
up to town that very day, made a hollow peace with 
her sister-in-law, forgave Harriet, went with her to 
order the wedding trousseau, and brought her back 
to Salternes the same evening. 

Hor was this all. She made a point of meeting old 
Mr. St. Rhadegund as he came out of church on the 
following Sunday, and made such gracious amends 
as only a great lady can do, asking his opinion about 
the headstrong action of their children, and be- 
having altogether so graciously that the old man 
expressed to his sons the opinion that there was 
nothing to beat the civility of “them ’igh and 
mighty folk, when they was pleased, ’cepting their 
incivility when they was displeased.” 

And he added that it was a pity some other folk, 
by which his sons supposed he meant Mrs. Hoad- 
Blean, hadn’t the sense to follow her example. 

For although Edward’s mother had finally to sub- 
mit to her son’s being confined in a private asylum, 
she altogether declined to make one step towards a 
reconciliation with the person upon whom she threw 
the entire blame of this piece of good fortune for the 
good of the community. And as, owing to her rupture 
with Jim, Jane was forced into appearing to take 
her mother’s part, Pamela, whose loyalty to Dick 
was beyond question, found herself standing alone. 
He was ill again, as a result of his most injudicious 
exertion on behalf of Alfred’s wife. He was there- 


292 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


fore condemned, not only to see nothing of Pamela, 
who dared not approach the house, but to be the 
victim of the gibes and taunts of his brothers, who, 
with the exception of little Bob, were always in a 
white-heat of indignation Avith the Avhole IIoad-Blean 
family. Tom even went so far as to try to bribe Bob 
not to carry the letters which passed between Dick 
and Pamela. But the little fellow was loyal to his 
eldest brother, and only asked Tom, with a grin, if he 
thought Dick Avas the chap to be “ done ” as easily as 
that. 

“ If I didn’t carry his letters, do you think he 
wouldn’t get somebody else to ? ” he asked with 
contempt. 

“Let him get somebody else then,” said Tom 
hotly. “ And if you’re so fond of him, don’t help 
him to his OAvn degradation.” 

But little Bob only laughed, and went on carrying 
the letters as before. 

Jim’s opposition to his brother’s engagement Avas 
still stronger and still more open. As soon as Dick 
was able to bear his rather exciting conversation, Jim 
overAvhelmed him Avith reproaches for “ going over 
to the enemy,” and made a strong point of the Avay 
in which Pamela’s relations had treated Dick’s father. 

“ I tell you, Dick,” said he, “ your sticking to that 
girl has cut up my father more than you will 
believe. He broods over it. And you may think he 
doesn’t mean his threats about cutting you off if 
you marry her ; but if you do think so, you’re mak- 
ing an awful mistake. Although you’ve always 
been his favorite, or because of that, perhaps, he’s 


LADY CONSTANTIA CLIMBS DOWN. 293 

angrier with you than I ever yet saw him with any- 
body.” 

Dick laughed. He had let Jim talk on for a long 
time, being inclined to silence himself, excejpt when 
he was much moved. 

“ That’ll do, Jim,” lie said, simply. “I’m awfully 
sorry the poor old governor takes it to heart so, 
more sorry about that than to lose the money. I 
know him, too, and I know he’s in earnest ; but I’m 
not going to give her up. Did you think I should ? ” 

“Well, no,” admitted Jim. “But it’s none the 
wiser for that.” 

“ I liked that girl better than any other girl I ever 
saw the first moment I set eyes on her,” observed 
Dick stolidly. “ I shall never meet another I like 
as well. From her pretty black eyes to her head- 
strong temper there’s nothing about the girl I don’t 
next to worsliip. Are you satisfied ? ” 

Jim stared at his brother and grew thoughtful. 

“Well, there’s no accounting for tastes,” said he. 
“ But I shouldn’t myself think of worshiping a girl 
who comes of such stock as she ! ” 

And he waxed sublimely contemptuous. 

“ By Jove ! ” murmured his brother. “ How you 
took us all in ! I thought you quite liked her sister 
Jane. Sometliing the other boys told me made me 
think so, I suppose ! ” 

Jim reddened furiously, -and answered in a very 
dogged, determined tone : 

“I admit having had a flirtation with her, and 
it’s quite possible that it might have grown serious 
if she had been a decent sort of girl. But when 


294 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


I found,” he went on, growing less deliberate and 
more vehement, “that I was to be dropped and 
taken up again, cut or smiled upon just as the fancy 
seized her, I very soon let her see that it was ‘ off,’ 
and that I didn’t mean to allow any woman to ride 
rough- shod over me ! ” 

“ A very proper spirit ! So she marries the Jew, 
eh?” 

Dick knew better than this, being kept mi courant 
by Pamela’s letters. A look of complacent satisfac- 
tion appeared, in spite of himself, on Jim’s features. 

“ No, the Jew has disappeared.” 

“ Oh ! ” was all Dick said, as he took up a book 
as a sign to Jim that h^ had had enough conversa- 
tion for the present. 

Dick’s engagement and the feeling it gave rise to 
had broken up the happiness of the Priory house- 
hold. Mr. St. Rhadegund rarely visited his eldest 
son’s sick-room, and when he did, he only asked a 
few formal questions and went away again. On 
the other hand, the rupture with his best loved son 
made him seek the society of the others ; and he 
got on with them all very happily until he came 
one day upon little Bob in the act of receiving a 
letter from the hands of Pamela, under the trees by 
the yard gate. 

He came upon them so suddenly that neither of 
the guilty pair had time to escape. Frowning severe- 
ly, he caught Bob by the shoulder; he addressed, the 
young lady in a tone of cold displeasure : 

“ You think it right, then, to make my boy do 
things underhand, unbeknown to ’is father ? ” 


LADY CONSTAYTIA CLIMBS DOWN. 295 

Pamela fired up indignantly. 

‘‘ There’s nothing underhand in it. As I can’t 
see Dick, I have to write to him, that’s all.” 

Can’t see ’im ? ” said the old man ironically, as 
he gave Bob a slight cuff and let him go. “ Oh, 
yes, you can if you like. You’re welcome to come 
and see ’im when you’ve a mind, as long as you re- 
member one thing : if ’e marries you, ’e ’as nothing ; 
if ’e don’t marry you, ’e ’as five thousand a year.” 

“ I’ll tell him,” said Pamela steadily. “ Then he 
can choose for himself.” 

“ Oh, of course ’e’ll stick to you, ’e’s too much of 
a man not to. An’ you’ll ’ave the pleasure of knowin’ 
you’ve been the ruin of ’im.” 

He stalked aw^ay without another word, leaving 
Pamela trembling. She hesitated for a few moments 
whether she should not take advantage of the old 
man’s ungracious permission, and go to see Dick. 
But she feared that she might not have self-control 
enough to refrain from exciting him by the struggle 
Avhich was going on in her own heart. 

While she stood deliberating, she saw Dick him- 
self crossing the yard to meet her. He looked so 
terribly white that she ran forward to meet him and 
made him sit down on the edge of a stone horse- 
trough. 

“Dick,” she said, impressively, clasping his arm 
tightly the while, “ you’ve got to give me up. Your 
father says you won’t, but I’m going to make you.” 

“ All right,” said he. 

And seeing there was no one about, he gave her a 
kiss. 


296 


A TEmilBLE FAMILY. 


“How can you? Be serious, please. This is a 
very serious matter — to me, at any rate.” 

And she sobbed. 

“ So it is. So serious that if I am to give you up, 
as you say, I must take all the kisses I can get first. 
What have I done that you should give me up ? ” 

“You’ve not done anything. It’s your father.” 

“ And what has he done ? ” 

“ lie’s just told me that you will have five thou- 
sand a year if you don’t marry me, and nothing at 
all if you do. Now I’m not going to marry a man 
with nothing at all.” 

Dick took no notice of this threat. He sat silently • 
playing with her hand for a few minutes, and then 
said, gravely : 

“ He’ll come round in time, I’ve not the least 
doubt. But we may have a rough time of it at the 
beginning. Do you think you could put up with a 
couple of years or so, or perha]3S not so much, of 
rather rough and rather poorish life in London? 
Now mind,” — he held up his hand to stop her vehe- 
ment protestations — “ it will be dingy and dirty and 
altogether beastly, and you’ll be laughed at by every- 
body for having made such a mess of it. Now what 
do you say to that prospect ? ” 

“ Oh, you know ! ” whispered Pamela. 

“Well, I suppose I do. When I’ve got a situation 
as a clerk, then, you will marry me. Is that so? ” 

“ That is so. And oh, Dick, we sha’n’t get on 
so badly, for I can cook a little, and I can sew beauti- 
fully, really beautifully. But oh, Dick, you won’t 
be strong enough to work for a very long time ! ” 


LADr CONSTANTLY CLIMBS DOWN. 297 

‘‘ Oh, yes^ I shall. One can always do what one 
has set one’s heart upon, and I’ve set my heart upon 
marrying you before Christmas.” 

It was with some misgiving on the girl’s side that 
they parted. For Dick’s spirit was a great deal 
stronger than his body. 

On his way back to the house Dick met his father, 
and would have siDoken to him ; but the proud old 
man, who chose to feel very much aggrieved at his 
son’s proposed alliance with a family so distasteful 
to him as the Hoad-Bleans were, avoided him, pre- 
tending not to hear. 

That night there was a great commotion at the 
Priory. For Dick w’as nowhere to be found ; and on 
inquiries being started among the servants, it was 
found that Dick’s portmanteau had been packed by 
his directions, and that he himself had left for Lon- 
don by the last train. 

Then poor old John St. Rhadegund’s assumed 
stoicism gave way. His eldest boy, his best loved 
son, Dick, had left him without a word of farewell, 
all for the sake of a girl he had not known a year. 

As proud as ever in his mortification and misery, 
the old man, when he avoided the company of his 
younger sons that night, and shut himself up alone 
in the study, said that he was going to “ look over 
his accounts.” 

But he had not been there ten minutes when his 
head sank down on his hands, and the tears stole 
down between his fingers ; for, though he was still 
too proud to call him back, his heart yearned for 
the son whom his harshness had driven away. 


298 


A TJEBBIBLE FAMILY. 


af 

CHAi^yER XXV. 

ONLY aR^IKTATION. 

On the following day, Tom, returning from his 
usual visit at Salternes Court, brought back a piece 
of news which filled little Bob with wonder, and big 
Jim with indignation. Harriet insisted on having 
all the Hoad-Blean girls for bride’s-maids, “ if they 
would come.” And she added that if they didn’t 
come she would be miserable. 

“Of course you told her,” said Jim, “that it was 
out of the question, and that you would rather not 
be married at all than have them inside the church 
on this occasion ? ” 

“ Of course I did not,” retorted Tom. “ Bride’s- 
maids and all those things are a woman’s business, 
not a man’s.” • 

“ Then I sha’n’t come to the church, I promise 
you,” said Jim. 

“ I can’t help that,” said his brother, taking the 
announcement philosophically. 

Jim, too indignant for more words, took a long 
walk as far as Canterbury by himself that afternoon. 
He returned by train ; and putting his head out of 
the window as he drew into Salternes station, he 
saw Alfred Fitzjocelyn in earnest conversation with 


ONLY A FLIRTATION. 


299 


Jane. They were walking slowly up the road to- 
wards the station. Alfred was going to London that 
evening, as Jim knew from Tom. Evidently Jane 
had come to see him off. 

Now Jim’s hands had bet ' so much cut about in 
the struggle he had had wil Edward on the day of 
the garden-party, that thev were still bound up and 
of very little use to him. ^le could not turn the 
handle of the carriage door without risk of starting 
the wounds afresh, so he put his head out of the 
window again and called to the guard. The guard, 
who was at the other end of the train, could not hear 
him ; but somebody else did. 

Jane, who, with Alfred, was now t)n the platform, 
started at the sound of Jim’s voice, turned from her 
companion to glance at the carriage, and seeing the 
difficulty he was in, sprang forward and opened the 
carriage door for him. The flush which had come 
into her face, and a gentle look, half of self-reproach 
and half of pity, made her particularly lovely. Jim, 
who had grown scarlet, thanked her stiffly as he got 
out. 

But she spoke as he passed her. 

“ It’s the least I can do, isn’t it,” she said in a low 
voice, “to help you, since it was in my defense you 
hurt your hands ? ” 

“Not at all — it was of no consequence — I did 
it without thinking. I should have done it for 
any body ! ” blurted out Jim with incoherent 
brusquerie. 

“ Of course,” returned Jane a little more coldly. 
“ But as it was I who happened to benefit by your 


300 


A TEllRlBLE FAMILY. 


courage, it was I, you see, who have to thank you for 
it. And this is the first opportunity I have had.” 

The coldness he now noticed in her tone irritated 
Jim to frenzy ; so that the retort he made went very 
near to absolute rudeness. 

“ Pray don’t mention it,” said he, “ It’s more than 
a pleasure to have one’s hands cut to pieces, to earn 
such thanks.” 

Jane turned quite white, and her lips trembled. 
With a little gasp, she turned abruptly away. 
Ashamed of himself and afraid that he had wounded 
her, Jim would have run after her, but in another 
moment she had joined Alfred and Harriet ; and 
after seeing off the former by train, she walked back 
in the direction of the village with Harriet, who was 
consulting her about the details of her trousseau 
with something like animation. For her mother’s 
reign of terror was over. 

When Jane reached home, Pamela at once noticed 
that something was amiss. After a few questions 
the truth came out. Two things had happened to 
worry her, she said. In the first place, Jim St. Rhade- 
gund had been rude to her. 

“Well, I shouldn’t trouble my head about tliat.” 

“ Oh, of course I shouldn’t,” said Jane, with a 
little haughty turn of her head, “only it will be 
awkward to have to meet them at Harriet’s wedding. 
I think I shall decline to be a bride’s-maid at all.” 

“ But you must meet the St. Rhadegunds some 
day, since I am going to marry Dick,” objected 
Pamela. 

“ That will not be for a long time, since Dick 


ONLY A FLIRTATION. 301 

has quarreled with the rest of them on our ac- 
count.” 

^ You said two things had worried you. What 
was the other one ? ” 

“ Alfred Fitzjocelyn. First, he pretended to want 
to talk about you, and said he didn’t know what you 
must think of him. Then he wanted to know wliether 
we were not all too much disgusted with him ever 
to speak to him again. So at first I pretended that 
we were, and then he seemed so miserable that I 
relented, and said we thought perhaps the blame 
had not all been on his side, but that he had been 
very silly. He said, — So he had. And then almost 
before I knew what he was doing, I found that he 
was trying to propose to me.” 

“Jane ! ” 

“ You’re not more surprised than I was. At first 
I laughed, and then when I saw that he didn’t like 
that, I pretended to be angry. But really I was 
more amused than anything else.” 

“ Then you don’t think you will have him ? ” 
insinuated Pamela gently. 

She could not quite recommend Jane to take the 
admirer she had herself disdained, but she thought 
it was a great pity that her sister should throw away 
chance after chance of marrying pretty well, as she 
seemed bent on doing. 

“ Of course not,” answered Jane disdainfully. 

Pamela sat for a little while with a frown on her 
face, pondering something which troubled her a 
good deal, but which she did not like to tell J ane. 
At last Jane, who was experienced in the expres* 


A TERlilBLE FAMILY, 


;]u2 

sions of her sister’s face, asked her sharply what it 
was she wanted to say, hut didn’t like to. Pamela 
colored deeply. 

“Well,” she said, trying to laugh, “ it is only that 
I wish you would marry, .Jane.” 

“ And what is your particular reason for this ? ” 

“ You won’t he angry ? ” 

“I won’t promise. But I want to hear.” 

“ It is because of something this impudent Jim 
St. Rhadegund said.” 

There was silence for a minute. Then Jane, who 
had remained very still, spoke in a low voice with a 
little tremor in it. 

“ About me ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Well?” 

“ He was advising Dick to give me up, or at any 
rate laughing at him for being fond of me ; and Dick 
turned round upon him and said he thought Jim had 
been fond of you once. And — and Jim said he hadn’t 
really cared for you ; it was ‘ only a flirtation.’ ” 

Now Pamela, who had a little fear that her re- 
served sister’s heart was still inclined to the faith- 
less Jim, had wished to stir Jane up against him. She 
was, therefore, rather disappointed that Jane only 
said : “ It was quite right. It was only a flirtation.” 

“Well,” said Pamela sharply, “I don’t think he 
has any business to go about saying so.” 

“ He can do as he likes,” said Jane. 

With an affectation of indifference, which did not 
deceive her sister, Pamela put an end to the con- 
versation by walking away. 


ONLY A FLIBTATION. 


3U3 


Pamela was heartily sorry for her sister, whom 
fate seemed to treat unkindly as far as love was con- 
cerned. And her sympathy was all the more real, 
since she herself was only a little more fortunate. 
The more she and Dick discussed their prospects, 
the darker they seemed to grow. Mr. St. Rhade- 
gund and his younger sons had grown colder to 
Dick, as the latter advanced towards recovery, so 
that he had confided his intention of going up to 
London to no one hut her. Pamela knew that he 
had gone in search of a clerkship, and that he in- 
tended to go off to London by himself, and to come 
back and marry her as soon as he “ had got used to 
the collar,” as he expressed it. But she could not 
bear the thought of his having to begin such a 
dreary life by himself, in his still delicate state of 
health ; and she had made up her mind to suggest 
to him a proposal which made her face tingle at the 
thought of it. 

It was on the second day after her conversation 
with Jane, that Pamela, having had a letter from 
Dick that morning, stood on the platform at Sal- 
ternes station to meet him on his return home. lie 
had got his clerkship, and he was to begin work in 
three weeks’ time. She was shaking from head to 
foot with excitement when the train came up, and 
had abandoned the idea she had been cherishing, in 
shame at the thought of proposing it, when the 
sight of his face brought about in her a quick revul- 
sion of feeling in favor of her project. For he was 
looking extremely ill. 

As soon, therefore, as they had left the station 


304 


A TERUIBLE FAMILY, 


together, and she had heard the details of his search 
for eraployinent, she put her hand on his arm, and 
said in a great hurry : 

“ I have something to tell yOu, too. Dick, it’s no 
use — you are not strong enough to go and live in 
London— all by yourself. You want some one to 
take care of you.” 

Dick stopped short, shaking from head to foot. 
He caught her hand, which was still lying on his 
arm, and pressed it against him. 

“Do you — do you mean it, Pamela?” he said, 
hoarsely. 

Pamela only nodded her head, which was bent so 
low that he could not see her face. 

“ Come along, then,” said he. 

And before she knew what he was doing, he had 
turned round, keeping her hand on his arm, and 
taken her straight to the dv/elling of the parish 
clerk, to whom he gave certain directions, while 
Pamela, red with shame at her own forwardness, 
tried to efface herself behind her lover. 

When Dick got home, his brothers gave him a 
demonstrative welcome. Put his father, though he 
was ten times more delighted and relieved than they, 
only gave him a curt nod, and addressed to him no 
single question as to the reason of his absence. The 
other boys, however, were by no means so reticent. 

They bombarded him with questions, and were 
not satisfied until they had heard all the particu- 
lars of his visit to town. He had got a situation as 
clerk in a merchant’s office at a salary of one hun- 
dred and fifty pounds a year. And when they asked 


ONLY A FLIRTATION. 


305 


him if he meant to live upon that, he informed them 
there had been five, hundred and twenty-seven 
applicants for the situation. 

“ And,” added he, “ I only got it because I was the 
son of the well-known John St. Ilhadegund.” 

“ Why,” asked Jim, “ how long do you suppose it 
will be before you can marry upon that ? ” 

“ The banns will be put up to-morrow, and I shall 
be married in a fortnight,” returned Dick quietly. 

There was a general sensation. Old Mr. St. 
Dhadegund’s hands, which were holding liis news- 
paper before his face, trembled. 

“ The banns ! ” cried Tom scornfully. “ Surely 
your aristbcratic fiancee won’t consent to be mar- 
ried by banns ? ” 

“She’ll have to consent to many worse things 
than that, poor lass, I expect,” said Dick. “ It’s all 
very well for a swell like you, Tom ; but there will 
be no bride’s-maids and no cake at our wedding.” 

A silence fell upon the boys. Jim glanced at his 
father, as if he expected him to say something. But 
the stern old man gave no sign. 

Next day old John St. Rhadegund heard the 
banns published between “ Richard St. Rhadegund, 
bachelor, and Pamela IIoad-Blean, spinster, both of 
this parish,” without moving a muscle. But his 
sons were deeply affected. They had looked upon 
their father’s quarrel with Dick as a sort of game of 
endurance between the two, which would speedily 
end amid general rejoicing. As the days went by, 
however, and there was no attempt at reconciliation 
on either side, Jim and his two younger brothers 
20 


306 ^ A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 

grew anxious, and took to consulting each other in 
earnest, low-voiced conversation, at all times of the 
day and night. 

Dick went up to town again one day to look for 
lodgings, and he came hack rather depressed at the 
dinginess of the home to which he was to take his 
bride. Then Jim, in pursuance of a deep-laid plan, 
wormed out of him the address of these lodgings, in 
a manner to avoid exciting Dick’s suspicions. So 
sensitive, not to say ‘‘ touchy,” did Dick grow under 
a sense of the trials which awaited his darling, that 
he refused to let his brothers know on what day he 
was to be married ; and in spite of all their vigi- 
lance, he evaded them all by stealing out of his room 
at six o’clock in the morning on the day following 
that of the third publication of the banns, and 
waited about until eight o’clock, when, Pamela meet- 
ing him at the door, they stole into the church, were 
married, and started for town by the train which 
left Salternes at 9 : 53, before the rest of the house- 
hold at the Priory had discovered his absence. 

• But if Dick had thus prepared a surprise for his 
family, his family had prepared a greater surprise for 
him. When he opened the door of the sitting-room 
of the London apartments he had engaged, he shut 
the door again and said to the landlady that she 
must have made a mistake; these were not the 
rooms he had engaged. '' 

“ Oh, yes, they are, sir,” she replied with many 
knowing smiles and nods. 

And she threw the door open and invited the lady 
to enter. Pamela could not believe her eyes, 


ONL Y A FLIR TA TION. 


307 


“ \Yhy, Dick, what did you mean by telling me 
the rooms were dingy ? ” cried she, as she looked in 
delighted astonishment around. 

“So they were,” replied Dick, whose voice was 
trembling. “It’s those wretched creatures, my 
brothers who have done this ! ” 

They had done it, and they had done it well. All 
the shabby old furniture, the worn carpets, the darned 
lace curtains, had disappeared. The ceilings had 
been whitewashed, and the whole place had been 
I fitted up, not only with luxury but with good taste. 

! It was a transformation. On the table lay a brand- 
new spade, a very large and heavy one. On the iron 
' lower part lay a note, directed in old John St. Rhade- 
gund’s firm round hand. 

Dick opened it and read : 

“ My son Dick, 

I promised you a spade for your fortune if you 
stuck to that girl. You have stuck to her, so here 
it is. 

“ Your father, 

“John St. Rhadegund.” 

Dick took up the spade with a curious feeling 
that there was something more to happen. Pamela 
perceived first what that something more was. 

“ Look,” said she, as she held up the label which 
had been neatly folded under the handle. 

It was a check for twenty thousand pounds. 

The young couple looked at each other through 
tears : it was a long time before they could either 
of them find words to speak. 


308 A TEBRIBLE FAMILY. 

Then Dick said, hoarsely : 

“ I knew he’d relent, dear old dad ! But I thought 
he’d have taken a year to do it ! ” 

It was not such a had beginnmg for their wedded 
life after all. 

The second wedding in the St. Rhadegund family 
was in every way a contrast to the first. It came 
off about ten days later, and the whole village was 
in a ferment of excitement over the magnificent 
preparations for it. The church was decorated; the 
school-children had a holiday ; there were tents put 
up for a banquet to the villagers ; there was a trium- 
phal arch ; there were six bride’s-maids and the 
church was thronged. 

Harriet, the bride, delighted to escape from her 
mother’s tyranny, looked almost too happy for con- 
ventional correctness. 

She was too happy even to be troubled by the fact 
that Jane had absolutely refused to be one of her 
bride’s-maids, though the twins had accepted the 
invitation eagerly. 

Jane had relented so far as to promise to be in the 
church for the ceremony, but that was the most 
that could be got from her. In fulfillment of this 
promise, when every one else except the bride was in 
the church, Jane stole in and squeezed herself into 
a corner in one of the back pews^ of the side aisle. 
From this nook she had a good view of most of the 
principal personages about to take part in the cer- 
emony. 

She saw the bridegroom himself, pulling nervously 
at his mustache, and glancing at the door. She 


ONL Y A FLIB TA TION. 


309 


saw the bride’s-maids waiting near the door, the 
pretty twins looking conspicuous among the rest. 
She saw her mother, sad-eyed and worn, unable to 
forget her unhappy son. She saw Captain Hoad- 
Blean, better dressed than any man present, looking 
serenely happy since he had learned the last turn in 
Pamela’s affairs, and persuaded himself that he had 
himself, in some unexplained way, brought it about.. 
She saw old John St. Rhadegund, looking happier 
since his reconciliation with his son. Last of all she 
saw Jim, with his hands still bound up, looking at 
her intently from a not far-distant pew. Jane 
blushed and turned away her head. 

In some surprising manner, Jim seemed to take 
this as an invitation; when she turned her head 
again, she saw him entering the pew in which she 
sat. She could not walk out ; he was between her 
and the door of the pew. All she could do was to 
keep her face turned steadily away. After this Jane 
saw nothing : pot the entrance of the bride, nor the 
procession up the aisle, nor any part of the ceremony. 
She only knew that it was over and the people pres- 
ent began to whisper in little groups, and to turn in 
their pews to watch for the return of the bride from 
the vestry. 

When they had all passed out of the church, Jane 
would have passed out too ; but Jim sat there, block- 
ing the way, as immovable as a statue. She was 
obliged, much against her will, to address him : 

“ May I trouble you to allow me to pass out ? ” 
she said ceremoniously. 

He looked her full in the face. 


810 


A TERRIBLE FAMILY. 


“ May I come with you and speak to you ? ” he 
asked beseechingly. 

“ Oh, certainly, if you please.” 

So, the church being by this time nearly empty, 
they went out together. 

“ It was in this churchyard,” began Jim humbly, 
as soon as they were outside the door, “ that you 
first allowed me to speak to you.” 

“Yes,” returned Jane quickly and haughtily. 
“ And I am very sorry ” 

“ That you ever did. Well, I don’t say so. Come 
round the old stone where I found you that morn- 
ing for one moment — just for one moment.” 

Jane hesitated. She began to know what acquies- 
cence would mean, and the meaning was not un- 
pleasant to her. Therefore something in the man- 
ner of her hesitation speedily gave Jim hope. 

“You haven’t treated me very well, have you ? ” 
he insinuated in the gentlest of tones, advancing 
his face daringly near to hers. 

Jane began to feel again the sensation of that day 
in the train, when he had come close to her and 
asked her for a kiss. She walked a few paces down 
the side-path with him, then suddenly stopped. 

“You said,” she began, suddenly, with her voice 
and her heart full of bitterness, “ that it ‘was only 
a flirtation ! ’ ” 

“Well, what could I say? Didn’t you tell me 
yourself that it was not to count ? ” 

“Yes, but 

“ Have you changed your mhid ? ” 

“ No, but ” 


ONLY A FLIRTATION. 


311 


They had strolled, by this time, down the path as 
far as the trees in which the east end of the church 
was half buried. 

“ Will you give me another kiss ? ” 

Jane complied. 

“ Now,” said Jim doggedly, with his arm round 
her, “once for all, does that count or not ?” 

Both of them were laughing a little, very quietly, 
and both were a good deal agitated. At last Jane 
shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Oh, it counts, I suppose,” said she. 

So when they came suddenly upon old Mr. St. 
Rhadegund, when they had walked home by the 
quietest way, he saw that an understanding had 
been arrived at and began to chuckle kindly. 

“ Ah, well, I’m very angry with you, Jim,” said he, 
in a tone which behed his words. “ You don’t any 
of you take any sort of notice of your old father’s 
wishes. I suppose you’ll be wanting a spade too, 
eh?” 

Jane burst into tears. 

“ Oh, Mr. St. Rhadegund,” sobbed she, “you’re not 
really angry with Jim, or with me, are you ? I — 
really — I — I have been fond of him a long time, and 
— and of you too, Mr. St. Rhadegund.” 

The old man was silent for a few moments. Then 
he took a hand of each and held them tightly in his 
own strong ones. 

“ God bless you both,” said he. 


THE END. 



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